


You Set My Soul Alight

by ConsentFest, parkkate



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Auror Partners, Banter, Blow Jobs, Case Fic, Consent Issues, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Lovers, Face-Sitting, First Time, Fluff, Frottage, Getting Together, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Intergluteal Sex, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Character Death, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Mystery, Pining, Post-War, Reconciliation, References to Depression, Rimming, Romance, Secrets, Sharing a Bed, Sleep talking, Switching, Unresolved Sexual Tension, references to suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-10-21 18:19:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 54,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17647541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsentFest/pseuds/ConsentFest, https://archiveofourown.org/users/parkkate/pseuds/parkkate
Summary: Students are going missing at Hogwarts, but that's not the only mystery Draco is determined to solve. Something’s going on with Potter. He can deny it all he wants. Draco is going to find out what it is. Unfortunately, trying to get to the bottom of it has some unexpected consequences and if Draco isn’t careful, he’s going to jeopardise their mission.





	1. As if you trust me

**Author's Note:**

> I am so thrilled to be a part of this amazing fest. Thank you to the mods for organizing it again!
> 
> I don’t even know how to begin to express my gratitude to my lovely beta, [phoenix4dragon](https://phoenix4dragon.tumblr.com/). The time, effort and dedication you put into this fic just completely blew my mind. Without you, this story wouldn’t be the same. It probably wouldn’t even exist. You’re such an amazing and kind person, and I’m so grateful for your help, all the encouragement and your wise words ❤
> 
> _Prompt: Harry and Draco are forced to work together. Eventually, they get intimate with each other. After a while, one of them starts doubting the other really wants this._
> 
> [Title inspiration](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xsp3_a-PMTw)

It’s fascinating, really, how in the midst of utter chaos, Potter is the picture of calm. No, he’s not just calm; he’s collected, concentrated, and some might even say he’s captivating. It’s like he thrives on chaos. Sometimes, it’s like he gets his best ideas in the middle of a raging thunderstorm; almost as though he needs the havoc to think clearly.

Draco is the complete opposite. He thinks quick on his feet and he’s skilful, yes, but his forte is mapping out strategies and analysing details, rather than just marching into a dangerous situation and winging it. Some people might think he and Potter make an excellent team that way; it’s why Robards decided to make them partners. He said they would ‘complement each other’. And while that’s true to a certain extent, Draco has already lost count of the times Potter put them both in danger with his hot-headedness. It’s unsurprising of course, and at this point, Draco wonders why he even bothers with his strategies. It’s not like Potter listens to him.

They’ve been partners for almost four weeks now and Potter’s arrogance is as irritating as ever. He and Weasley were the Ministry’s dream team, until Weasley decided to take parental leave. Every Auror who was partnered with Potter after that sniffed his chance to become the next hotshot and Potter’s best friend. Unfortunately for them, Potter changes partners as quickly as his underpants.

So imagine Draco’s surprise when he wasn’t met with the same fate. He knows it’s got nothing to do with the fact that Potter has already gone through five partners. Everyone knows it’s only a matter of time before Potter takes over the Auror Department; he can basically do as he pleases.

Honestly, Draco suspects he’s keeping him as a partner because it gives Potter the chance to demonstrate his power. While he’s technically not Draco’s boss (yet), he sure acts like it. There’s no denying that Potter definitely has excellent leadership traits, but for now, they’re equals and Draco will make sure Potter doesn’t forget that.

“Oi, Malfoy, are you going to stand there all night?”

Draco bites back a retort and composes himself before he walks over to Potter with his wand raised. The chilly winter air makes him shiver but he doesn’t bother casting a warming charm.

“Remember the plan, Potter,” he hisses, crouching down, mimicking Potter. “Or do you need me to go over it one more time?”

Potter makes a dismissive gesture, which pisses Draco off more than if he had ignored him altogether.

“We don’t even know how many of these potion smugglers we’re dealing with here,” Potter murmurs, his eyes fixed on the door.

“Wrong,” Draco growls. “I know there are five of them in there.”

Potter rolls his eyes. “Smart-arse,” he murmurs under his breath. “Just because you made a lucky guess last time.”

Before Draco can respond, Potter jumps up and kicks down the door, Muggle-raised brute that he is.

Draco runs in after him and immediately casts a shield charm. There are hexes and curses flying left and right. Potter already knocked out two of them. If he wasn’t so bloody irritating, Draco would almost be impressed.

“Petrificus Totalus,” Draco shouts and the wizard who tried to sneak out through the back door falls to the ground.

“Malfoy, watch out,” Potter yells and before Draco knows what’s happening, he’s shoved out of the way. He yelps as he lands on the stone floor. The hex that would have hit him, knocks Potter off his feet and sends him flying to the opposite wall. Draco can practically hear the breath leaving Potter’s lungs.

His eyes dart to the last two wizards. He points his wand at them, but then he hears an incantation that makes his blood run cold.

“Confringo!”

“Potter, no!” Draco turns away and shields his head as the blast of the explosion whooshes over them. He peeks out from under his arms and sees Potter is already on his feet again.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, his tone flat.

Draco grits his teeth at Potter’s audacity. “You’re the one who’s bleeding, you idiot,” he grumbles as he picks himself off the floor.

“I am?” Potter sweeps his hand over his face, pausing at his temple. He looks at his blood-smeared hand. And then he shrugs. “It’s just a scrape.”

“Right,” Draco says dryly. “You better hope you didn’t kill those bastards.”

“They’re just unconscious.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “I’ll make sure they’re taken into custody before they wake up. And you,” he points a finger at Potter, “you go back to the Ministry and report to Robards. No arguing, Potter! I can’t believe you cast _Confringo_ in a house full of illegal potions. The nerve!”

“They were getting away! What was I supposed to do?”

“Not blow up the house? You put everyone in danger!”

“I kept _you_ safe, didn’t I?” Potter snaps, adding “prat” under his breath.

Draco decides not to dignify that with an answer. Potter and his damned hero complex. He’s so full of himself.

Potter insists on staying until all five wizards are taken away. In turn, Draco insists they go to St Mungo’s to get that nasty wound on Potter’s head taken care of. Serves him right. Draco knows how much Potter hates going to the hospital.

The next few days are absolute torture. The whole Ministry buzzes with the news that Potter caught the last of the infamous potions smuggling ring in under five minutes. Potter. Not Malfoy and Potter. Just Potter.

“I heard there were twenty and he incapacitated them all at once,” a wizard whispers to another just as Draco steps into the lift. He suppresses the urge to snort. He taps his foot impatiently, dying to get away from all the chatter.

“I heard one of them was a werewolf and he almost got bitten.”

“Actually, he did get bitten,” Draco says matter-of-factly. “Haven’t you noticed how much hairier he’s gotten?” He wiggles his eyebrows at the wizards, who are staring at him in horror. He can’t help but snigger when he exits the lift, wondering how long it will take until Potter gets called in for inspection.

“You’re in a good mood today,” Potter remarks as Draco walks around the cubicles to his own, opposite from Potter’s.

“The office gossip is quite amusing this morning,” he shrugs.

Potter makes a disapproving sound. “I wouldn’t know,” he mutters and resumes scribbling on his parchment. At least that’s what Draco assumes he does. All he can see is Potter’s unruly hair. “I hate filling out these reports. I hope we get a new case soon.”

“Your home life must be so boring,” Draco mutters with a smirk. He leans back in his chair, feeling rather pleased with himself when Potter looks over the dividing wall with furrowed brows. “Do you even leave this place to sleep?”

“It was one time,” Potter groans. “I fell asleep at my desk once!”

“Oh, I know. There are pictures to prove it.” He sniggers. “How long did it take you to get the magical paint off your face?”

“Well, after nobody said anything for _three hours_ ,” he throws Draco a dirty look, “Hermione eventually got it off that night.”

Draco sniggers again and leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “I see nothing’s changed since school.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Granger’s still doing your dirty work.”

Draco mentally cheers when irritation flickers over Potter’s face.

“Well, that’s what friends do, isn’t it? They help each other out. But I guess you wouldn’t know anything about that.”

“At least I’m not incapable of cleaning up my own messes and don’t have to rely on others.”

“Right,” Potter scoffs. “You wouldn’t even be sitting here if I hadn’t saved your arse yesterday.”

Arrogant little prick!

“None of that would have been necessary if you had just stuck to the plan,” Draco growls. “But noooo! The Boy Who Lived knows best.”

While the two of them glare at each other, Draco notices out of the corner of his eye, they’ve attracted an audience. These damned cubicles.

“How’s the report coming, Potter?”

They both turn to find Robards giving him a stern look.

“Excellent, sir,” Potter mutters darkly.

“I expect it on my desk no later than this evening.”

“Yes, sir.”

Draco mentally rolls his eyes as Robards marches off. This isn’t the first time the Head Auror is acting as though Draco doesn’t exist.

“Ugh.” Potter rakes his fingers through his hair. “I’m not even halfway through.”

Draco sighs and puts his hand on the dividing wall, palm turned upwards. Potter just blinks at him.

“Give it here,” Draco says.

Potter gives him a speculative glance. “Really?”

“Nobody can read your atrocious handwriting anyway.”

Potter snorts as he hands Draco the report. “If you weren’t such a pompous git, I might actually enjoy working with you.”

Draco ignores him and quickly dips his quill into the ink bottle. He scans Potter’s notes, squinting as the handwriting gets even more illegible. He scoffs, shaking his head.

“I can tell from this report when you started getting bored with it. What was it, after…” He purses his lips. “... seven minutes?”

Potter shrugs and turns his eyes to the ceiling innocently. “It feels like doing homework,” he says after a moment.

“These reports are important, Potter.”

“Catching criminals, that’s what’s important.”

“As is documenting their names and their crimes.”

Draco hears Potter blowing a raspberry.

“Well, I guess you get bonus points for caring so much,” he murmurs.

“Excuse me?”

Potter shrugs. “Ron and I were always trying to get the other to fill out those bloody reports. It’s actually not that bad, having a partner who likes doing what I hate.”

“Don’t get any ideas, Potter,” Draco drawls. “I’m not going to be your house-elf.”

Potter throws back his head and starts swivelling his chair from side to side. Draco tries to ignore him as he continues filling out the report, which turns out to be harder than he anticipated. Potter keeps fidgeting and groans every now and then, presumably out of boredom.

Draco is ready to smash his quill on the desk when Potter suddenly jumps up. He catches something in mid-air; a letter, Draco realises. He watches Potter out of the corner of his eye as he tears it open. After a moment, Potter plops down on his chair again, looking deflated.

“Bad news?” Draco asks without taking his eyes off the parchment.

“Ron and Hermione invited me over to dinner, but they have to cancel. Something about their baby,” Potter says.

“Bummer,” Draco mutters. He peeks over the dividing wall when Potter stays silent. He’s staring at his desk, or maybe the letter, disappointment written all over his face. “Weasley with a baby,” Draco mutters, scrunching up his nose. “Huh. On second thought, it might suit him more than being an Auror.”

“Hey, Ron is brilliant at his job.”

“Nothing I said contradicts that. Merlin, Potter, calm your tits.”

As always, there’s this little stab to his chest at Potter’s fierceness. Even after all these years, Draco can’t shake the jealousy that’s bubbling up inside him. That could have been him; he could have been the one Potter always defends and turns to. Not that he wants that anymore. Well, not as badly as he did as a child anyway.

“I should have known something like this would happen,” Potter sighs, sounding crestfallen.

“Merlin, Potter, they didn’t die. They cancelled dinner. Is it that big of a deal?”

“It’s not,” Potter says, although his tone suggests otherwise.

“Just go out for dinner with someone else,” Draco shrugs.

Potter presses his lips together and bows his head.

“Don’t you have a flatmate?”

“Ginny is out of town with the Harpies,” Potter says quietly.

“Wait, what?” Draco puts down his quill. “Your flatmate is your ex? Are you insane?”

“We get along great,” Potter says in a rather defensive tone. “Besides, she’s barely home these days.”

“Still, it’s a little weird,” Draco says, making a face.

Potter just shrugs and absentmindedly taps his fingers against his desk lamp. “We actually work better as friends and I like having her around.”

Draco furrows his brows. “You’re still shagging her, aren’t you? You’re not really broken up.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Actually, I couldn’t care less,” Draco retorts. “What you do in your spare time is none of my business.” He gives Potter a pointed look. “And I’d like it to stay that way.”

“Right,” Potter mutters, rolling his eyes. “Well, I’ll be off, then. Addington mentioned something about needing my help with a case. See you tomorrow.” He makes a saluting gesture with two fingers and saunters off. Draco looks after him, mentally groaning when he catches a few witches and wizards turn their heads to do the same.

Potter will be insufferable once he’s Head Auror. Not only because he’ll officially be able to order Draco around, but also because the general swooning around the Ministry will undoubtedly intensify to an unbearable level. It’s barely tolerable now.

The next few days are fairly quiet though. Too quiet. Potter barely talks to him, which Draco actually welcomes, but it’s the lack of communication with the other Aurors that piques Draco’s curiosity. Granted, Potter is pretty closed off these days. Much more than he used to be at school anyway. But at least then Draco caught glimpses of him laughing and joking with his friends every now and again. Now… he actually can’t remember the last time he saw Potter laugh. Not that he cares. Potter’s laugh is hideous.

Still, something’s going on with him and he’s not very good at hiding it; unlike Draco. He hides his interest in the matter perfectly, concentrating on his paperwork. He only raises an eyebrow slightly when Potter returns from his lunch break on Wednesday, looking ruffled and annoyed.

“Something troubling you?” Draco asks in a tone that very much suggests he’s merely making polite conversation.

“No,” Potter barks and plops down on his chair. He starts drumming his fingers on his desk and Draco is pretty sure he’s only doing it to annoy him.

He keeps his head down as he throws Potter a nasty scowl. It intensifies when he sees him staring off into space. Ugh, he definitely needs a shave. And a haircut. But what else is new. And… apparently more sleep. The dark circles under his eyes speak volumes of restless nights. Perhaps that’s why he’s so jittery. And honestly, his lip is going to bleed if he bites it any harder. Draco hopes it does. It would go well with the deep frown wrinkles between his eyebrows.

Draco’s eyes snap back down when Potter crosses his arms and turns his head in his direction.

“When the fuck are we getting a new case?” he grumbles under his breath.

Draco shakes his head with a little sigh and quickly scans his notes before he grabs the next roll of parchment.

“How can you be so calm about this?” Potter demands.

“About what?” Draco asks, keeping his eyes on his desk.

“We’re just sitting around, doing nothing.”

“That’s what you’re doing. I’m filling out important paperwork.”

“Important, my arse,” Potter mutters. “We need to do something about this.”

“What do you propose? Setting a house on fire so you can run into the burning building and play the hero as per usual?” He dips his quill into the ink bottle. “Or should I brew an illegal potion so you can arrest me?”

“Well, the least you could do is LOOK AT ME WHILE YOU’RE TALKING!”

There’s a bang, as though something’s exploded.

Draco drops the quill, his head whipping up in surprise. He notices several heads have turned as well, staring at Potter in bewilderment.

“Merlin’s pants, what’s gotten into you?” Draco asks, slowly backing away a little.

Potter’s face is blotchy, his chest heaving furiously. He glowers at Draco for a few moments before his eyes slowly widen.

“I—I’m sorry. I don’t—I don’t know what just happened.” He rubs his hand on his stubbly cheek and glances over his shoulder.

“Fire,” someone yells.

“Oh.” Potter grabs his wand and points it at his wastebin. He vanishes the whole thing nonverbally. “Um, excuse me,” he mutters and hurries off to the loo. Draco stares after him, still in shock.

The second Potter is out of sight, the other Aurors begin to murmur. Draco can’t exactly blame them. That was weird. The worst part is though, from what he can gather, his colleagues are apparently under the impression this is _his_ fault, that he pushed Potter over the edge.

Almost twenty minutes pass until Potter quietly sits down at his desk again, his face completely impassive.

Draco wonders if he should say something. It probably wouldn’t be wise. But before he can stop himself, he murmurs, “Care to tell me what that was about?”

“I lost my temper for a second. No big deal.”

No big deal?

“You looked like you were going to blow up the whole department, Potter.” He leaves out the part about Potter actually blowing up his wastebin.

“Will you just let it go?”

After a moment of consideration, Draco gives a noncommittal shrug. Clearly, it’s no use trying to get Potter to talk right now. But it makes him hyper aware of his behaviour throughout the rest of the day. It appears to be fairly ordinary, but he catches Potter staring off into space again several times and he remains very uncommunicative.

Draco makes the same observations the next day, cataloguing every little gesture and expression in his mind.

He frowns in confusion when Potter’s face considerably softens.

“I missed you, mate,” he says as he jumps out of his seat and pulls Weasley into a tight embrace.

“Me too,” Weasley chuckles. “Merlin, it’s so good to be out of the house.”

“How’s the, err, baby?”

“Rose,” Weasley reminds him.

“Ah, yes, Rose, right.”

Draco slightly cocks his head at Potter’s tone. He almost sounds… indifferent.

“How’s Hermione?”

“Fantastic,” Weasley beams. “Well, she’s a little edgy. A lot actually, but that’s only because we haven’t slept in about three months.”

Potter nods and claps Weasley on the shoulder. He turns to Draco with an expectant expression. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

“About what?”

“About the baby.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “Ah, yes, Weasley, congratulations on having had intercourse with your wife.”

Weasley raises an eyebrow at him as a hint of amusement flickers over his features, while Potter covers his face with his hand.

“He’s a lost cause,” Potter mutters.

“Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation, but that was almost funny,” Weasley says. “I _should_ be congratulated on having such an amazing wife,” he adds, putting his hands on his hips. “You ready for lunch?” he asks Potter.

“Weasley,” Draco chimes in on a whim. “May I have a quick word? In private.”

Weasley and Potter both look at him as though he just told them he’s going to Crucio them.

“Alright,” Weasley says, hesitantly. He glances over his shoulder, back at Potter, as he follows Draco out into the hallway.

This might turn out to be a huge mistake and it’s definitely not ideal that Potter knows Draco is talking to Weasley, but this seems like an exceptional situation.

“What is it, Malfoy?” Weasley asks as soon as they’re alone, eyeing him suspiciously.

“It’s about Potter,” Draco begins. “And I’d appreciate it if this conversation stayed between the two of us.”

“Is something wrong?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.” Draco pauses, trying to gather his thoughts. “I just—I noticed a few odd things lately.”

“What kind of things?”

“Something about Potter seems a bit… off.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he seems to be rather out of it, he’s not talking to people and yesterday, he completely lost his temper and started yelling.” Draco hesitates. “And—”

“And what?”

“He lost control of his magic. There was a fire.”

“You provoked him, didn’t you?”

“Not to the point that it would justify that kind of reaction.”

Weasley still looks sceptical. “Maybe you bring it out in him.”

“Weasley,” Draco says, trying to stay calm. “I’ve known Potter for half my life. He may be short-tempered, but this is—” He shakes his head.

“There’s nothing wrong with Harry,” Weasley insists, but Draco catches something in his voice that makes him frown. Doubt. Weasley is probably defending him out of habit, but maybe there is a part of him that agrees with Draco after all.

“Your baby,” Draco says slowly.

“What about my baby?”

“Is Potter her godfather?”

“Of course he is.”

Draco narrows his eyes. “And you don’t find it the tiniest bit weird that he can’t seem to remember her name? I got the impression he doesn’t even care.”

Weasley chews on his bottom lip and Draco is about to say something else when he waves a dismissive hand in the air. “He does care. Besides, Harry has other things to worry about.” More doubt. Draco can hear it.

“How is he acting around her?”

“Malfoy, why are you asking me all these questions?”

“Because, clearly, there’s something wrong with—”

“There is nothing wrong with Harry!” Weasley scowls at him and his face is nearly the same colour as his hair. “How do I know you’re not asking me all these questions so you can use it against Harry later?”

Draco heaves a sigh.

“Come on, Malfoy, we both know you don’t give a fuck about Harry.”

“He’s my partner, and as such, I need him to be on top of his game.”

“Right,” Weasley snorts.

“I can’t have a partner who’s mentally unstable.”

“Hey, who are you calling mentally unstable?”

Draco grits his teeth. Weasley is defending him just as fiercely as Potter had him the other day. Their loyalty to each other makes Draco want to hex them.

“Weasley, you can’t tell me you haven’t noticed as well.”

“Harry just doesn’t deal well when things are quiet.”

“So you’re saying this is normal for him? This isn’t normal.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not normal having to spend your childhood fighting against a dangerous lunatic, but it happened. That ought to leave some kind of trauma.”

“Ah, so you’re admitting—”

“Don’t twist my words, Malfoy.”

Draco purses his lips. He’s onto something. Weasley isn’t just angry. He’s tense, as though he just realised he said too much.

“So you think this is because of what happened with the Dark Lord?”

Weasley shrugs. “Dunno.”

Draco cocks his head to the side. “But what you’re saying is… he wasn’t like this. Before.”

Weasley looks down at his shoes. “Well. We all changed after the war, didn’t we?” He looks at Draco again. “Come on, Malfoy, cut him some slack, will you?”

“Is that what you’ve been doing?” Draco asks, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe you’ve cut him too much slack.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I guess I understand why you wanted to give him some space, but that only seems to have encouraged this kind of behaviour.”

“You know what, you go through what he’s been through, then we can talk again!”

Weasley turns on his heels and marches off, leaving Draco standing there like an idiot. When he passes him again, this time with Potter in tow, he doesn’t even deign to look at Draco.

Damn it, talking to Weasley was a mistake after all. Draco has no reason to trust that he’ll keep this to himself. He can only hope Weasley deems this too upsetting for Potter to blab Draco’s observations. Then again, maybe Potter will finally ask for a new partner. That wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

He’s fully prepared for Potter to confront him when he returns about an hour later; Draco watches him carefully as he plops down on his chair, seemingly in rather good spirits. Well, by his standards at least. Huh. Alright. Draco would have sworn Weasley would rat him out.

He keeps a close eye on Potter over the next week, something that seems to be coming to him naturally. On Thursday evening, just as Draco is about to go home, Olivia Miller, Robards’ assistant, passes them and pauses, giving Harry a sympathetic look.

“Are you feeling okay?” she asks, her hand hovering over Potter’s shoulder as though she wants to comfort him, but is too afraid to touch him.

“Err… yeah. I’m alright,” Potter says with a confused expression. He looks even more confused when she slightly leans in.

“I’ve kept it from Robards for now. You probably have enough going on at the moment. I do hope you’re getting professional help though. And you’ll have to talk to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.” She gives him an uncertain smile before she hurries off.

Potter stares after her with his mouth hanging open. “What the bloody hell was that about?” he wonders out loud.

Before he can stop himself, Draco bursts out laughing, holding his stomach with one hand and clutching his desk with the other.

“You know, don’t you?” Potter says, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

“Oh Merlin, I almost forgot about that,” Draco heaves.

“Malfoy, what’s going on?” Potter glowers at him over the dividing wall, his palms planted on his desk.

Draco lets out one last chuckle and looks Potter squarely in the eyes. “Some people were whispering about you almost getting bitten by a werewolf on our last mission.”

“What? Where did they hear that? That’s bollocks.”

“ _We_ know that,” Draco smirks. He watches delightedly as Potter’s face creases.

“You told them—Malfoy!”

“Relax,” Draco laughs. “If worst comes to worst, they’ll run a few tests on you and you’ll be in the clear.”

Potter shakes his head and rubs his forehead. “I hate you sometimes.”

“Only sometimes? I’d say that’s improvement.” His hand automatically reaches for his desk lamp to turn it off, but his eyes linger on Potter. His mood swings were pretty bad today and he still looks like he hasn’t slept in days. Normal people would probably look and behave like that during a crisis; leave it to Potter to turn downtime into a crisis.

As much as Draco would love to ignore him, he can’t deny he’s dying to know what the hell is going on with Potter. Maybe he could…

He reaches for his wand and murmurs “Alohomora” to unlock the lowest drawer of his desk. He stays silent while he pours some firewhisky into two glasses and offers one to Potter.

“Where’d you get that?” he asks. “Private stash?”

“Like you don’t have one as well,” Draco retorts. He blinks when Potter flicks his wand wordlessly and the dividing wall vanishes.

“Should have done that earlier,” Potter mutters. “How do I know you didn’t poison mine?” There’s the ghost of a smirk on his lips, which Draco returns.

“Guess you’ll have to trust me for once.”

A strange look flashes over Potter’s features before he holds out his glass and waits. After a moment of consideration, Draco touches his glass to Potter’s and leans back in his chair. He watches as Potter takes a sip and puts his elbows on his desk.

“Slow week, huh?” Draco says, trying to keep his tone light.

“ _You_ were busy.” Potter nods to the rolls of parchment neatly stacked beside Draco. “Man, I hate when there’s nothing to do.”

“You don’t say,” Draco says dryly. “I for one enjoy the balance.”

Potter makes a noncommittal noise and shrugs.

“Is it the thrill of putting yourself in danger?” Draco asks.

“What?”

“Are you some kind of adrenaline junkie? Is that it?”

“No, that’s not it,” Potter says, sounding a little offended.

“What is it then? I’ve never met anybody who acts like having some downtime is a punishment.”

Potter’s brows slowly furrow and he looks at Draco, really looks at him, for the first time in days. Something flickers across his face, something that Draco can’t quite put his finger on; he assumes he’s struck a nerve and Potter feels caught.

“I don’t act like it’s a punishment,” he murmurs after a moment. He ignores Draco’s snort. “It’s just… It gives me too much time to think.”

Draco is about to say something when Potter cuts him off.

“Come up with something better, Malfoy.”

“Excuse me?”

“Insulting my intelligence and my ‘lack of brain cells’” he raises his hands to make air quotes, “is really getting old.”

Draco throws back his head indignantly, even though he planned on doing exactly what Potter just called him out on.

“I like to keep myself busy. I don’t see a problem with that,” Potter shrugs.

“There isn’t,” Draco lies. “I was just curious.” He knows if he confronts Potter now, he’ll never get to the bottom of this. He has to gain Potter’s trust first. But he already revealed more to Draco than he probably intended to.

_It gives me too much time to think._

So he’s trying to distract himself. From what? Heartbreak? Is he still hung up on Weasley’s sister? Whatever it is, it seems to be so bad, Potter snaps as soon as things get too quiet. Weasley said he doesn’t know how to deal with it; at least it was implied.

Well, Potter’s life has been anything but quiet to this point, hasn’t it? Thanks to the Dark Lord. But it was Potter’s decision to go straight into Auror training after he was dead; he could have taken some time off or gone back to Hogwarts for his final year. Instead, he decided to throw himself into work and hasn’t taken a day off since.

Draco used to think he’s craving more glory, can’t get enough of it. But now… Potter’s hiding something; he’s trying to escape or forget or—

“Are you trying to use Legilimency on me?”

Draco jerks, startled out of his thoughts, and gapes at Potter. “What?”

“You looked like you were—”

“That would be illegal, Potter.”

“Well, I still wouldn’t put it past you.”

“Right. Because I’m so evil.”

Potter narrows his eyes and puts down his glass. “No offence, Malfoy, but give me one reason why I should trust you.”

Draco clicks his tongue and leans forward. “If you start a sentence with ‘no offence’, then maybe think about not saying it at all.”

“I wasn’t trying to insult you,” Potter retorts. “It’s just the truth.”

Draco scoffs and shakes his head. “Why did you agree to be partnered up with me, then?”

Potter shrugs. “It made sense.”

“What?”

What the hell does that even mean?

“You’re experienced in the Dark Arts, you’re a good strategist, you—”

“You just had to lead with the backhanded compliment, didn’t you?” Draco grunts.

“It’s not a compliment at all,” Potter rectifies. “It’s simply a fact.”

“Great,” Draco deadpans and pushes himself out of his seat. “Good to know you still think so highly of me.”

“As if you trust _me_ , Malfoy.”

Draco’s eyes snap to Potter’s and fix him with a glare. “I may think you’re an arrogant prick and an insufferable goody two-shoes, but that doesn’t affect my trust when it comes to your abilities.” _When you aren’t mentally unstable._ “Unlike you, I am very much capable of separating the two.”

With a flick of his wand, he extinguishes his desk lamp, grabs his bag and marches over to the door.

“Trusting my abilities isn’t the same as trusting me as a person,” Potter calls after him.

Draco pauses, putting one hand on the doorframe. “You’re right,” he says without turning around. “That kind of trust has to be earned.”

Potter makes a sound that almost sounds like a snort. “And yet here you are, wondering why I don’t trust you.”

Draco’s knuckles turn white as he grabs the doorframe. “Goodnight, Potter,” he says in a low voice and heads down to the floo with a stubborn crease in his forehead.

It’s still there the next day as he pointedly ignores Potter. It only vanishes when their colleague Nick saunters over and hands Draco a cappuccino.

“With a dash of caramel syrup,” he winks. “Just the way you like it.”

“Thanks, Nick.”

He’s one of the only people Draco actually likes in here. Most of all because Nick doesn’t piss himself every time Potter enters the room. He barely ever talks to him. Draco has often wondered if Nick is jealous of Potter; he’d make a fine Head Auror as well, minus one crucial detail. He’s not Harry bloody Potter.

But whatever the reason may be, Nick seemingly disliking Potter is definitely an added bonus.

“Oh, congrats on the Wilson case by the way,” Draco says, raising his paper cup in a silent toast.

“Thanks,” Nick says with a groan. “I thought we’d never crack that case.”

“Well, it took you long enough,” Draco sniggers, to which Nick sticks out his tongue. He leans against Draco’s desk and takes a sip of his coffee.

“Hey, when are we going out for drinks again? I had fun the other night.” He flashes a grin at Draco and wiggles his eyebrows.

“Pfft.” Draco shakes his head disapprovingly, but chuckles nonetheless. Yeah, he could tell Nick was having a good time. He was shamelessly flirting with Pansy the entire night. They’ve been dancing around each other for weeks now. “We can go out for drinks tomorrow, but only if you promise you’ll finally make a move. It’s driving me insane.”

They both turn their heads when someone starts coughing rather loudly.

“Everything alright, Potter?” Nick asks.

Potter gives him an annoyed look. “I’d feel better if you didn’t discuss _your plans_ right in front of me.”

Nick’s forehead creases.

“Don’t mind him,” Draco says, turning away from Potter. “All he does is work. He doesn’t know how to have a good time.”

Nick sniggers and takes another sip of his coffee. “So tomorrow, then? It’s a date.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to cancel those plans.”

They all look up to find Robards standing behind Potter.

“A new case?”

Draco suppresses the urge to roll his eyes at Potter’s excessive eagerness.

Robards nods. “You’ll have to leave immediately.”

“Alright!” Potter jumps out of his seat. “Where are we off to?”

“You—Cox! This doesn’t concern you. Stop lurking and go back to work.”

“I wasn’t lurking,” Nick mutters under his breath as he walks back to his own desk. “Another time, then,” he mouths at Draco over his shoulder.

“Where are we going?” Potter repeats impatiently.

“Hogwarts.”

“Hogwarts?”

“The Headmistress is awaiting you in her office. With the information we’ve received, it appears you two will be staying there for a while.”

“What happened?” Draco asks.

“Three students have gone missing.”

“At once?” Potter exclaims.

“No. One after the other, since the beginning of the school year. There seems to be no pattern. Two girls and a boy.”

Draco frowns and slowly stands up. “Have their parents been informed?”

“Yes, but McGonagall wants to keep this under wraps. So no talking to reporters.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Potter snorts.

“Alright, off you go, then. And report back to me as soon as you find anything suspicious.”

“Yes, sir,” Potter says with a nod. He and Draco look at each other for a moment in silence.

“It will be weird, won’t it?” Draco murmurs.

“Why?”

“I haven’t been back there since…”

“Ah. Yeah. I only went back once, very briefly, after they finished the repairs. I had to give a speech in the Great Hall.” Potter wrinkles his nose. “I wonder if everything still looks the same.”


	2. People don’t really learn, do they?

“Potter, Malfoy. I wish I could say I’m glad to see you. Well, at least I wish it were under better circumstances.” McGonagall greets them both with a warm handshake and gestures for them to sit down.

“It’s good to be back,” Potter says, but there’s something about his tone that makes Draco question his statement.

He’s never been to the Headmistress’ office before, not even when Dumbledore was still Headmaster. But from what Potter is murmuring under his breath, it did look different then.

Speaking of Dumbledore.

Potter’s eyes immediately wander to the frame hanging behind the Headmistress’ desk. Draco has no doubt about who usually occupies it and he’s eternally grateful that he isn’t here right now.

“Would you like some tea?” McGonagall asks as they all sit down at her desk.

“Sure,” Potter says, but it’s obvious he’s dying to get more information about the missing students. Draco can tell he’s trying to be polite and waits until everyone has a cup in front of them. “So, what happened?”

“I wish I could answer your question sufficiently, but as for now, we are groping in the dark.”

“When did the first student go missing?” Draco asks and gently blows on his tea.

“First week of November. Clara Higgins, Ravenclaw, a fifth year. She went to bed with the rest of her dorm, but she was gone the next morning.”

“And nobody saw anything?” Potter asks.

McGonagall shakes her head. “We searched the whole castle and the grounds, but we didn’t find her or any of the other students. Stella Talby, a sixth year, went missing a month later and—and since yesterday—” McGonagall swallows. “Since yesterday, there seems to be no trace of Christopher Ladkins. He’s only in second year.”

Potter leans forward. “And they’re all from different houses?”

“Yes. Mr Ladkins is a Gryffindor. Ms Talby is a Hufflepuff.”

“Huh. No Slytherin,” Potter murmurs. It isn’t a question. And the implication makes Draco’s stomach churn in fury.

“And they all went missing during the night?” Potter presses on.

“No. Mr Ladkins went missing after his last class of the day, Herbology. And Ms Talby never returned from the monthly trip to Hogsmeade.”

“How strange,” Draco murmurs. He takes a sip of tea, welcoming the warmth spreading through his chest. Potter hasn’t touched his cup yet.

“So we don’t know if they ran away or if they were kidnapped,” he mutters. “Is there anything else out of the ordinary you noticed over the last few months?”

McGonagall purses her lips, deep creases in her forehead. “Not that I can think of at the moment.” She lets out a heavy sigh. “I think it might be time to close the school.”

“What?” Potter exclaims.

“I don’t believe those students ran away. I think they’re being held somewhere against their will,” she says grimly. “Or they are—” She swallows. The rest of her unfinished sentence hangs between them and it feels like a Dementor just glided into the room. Draco has never seen McGonagall show much emotion. This is almost enough to make him uncomfortable.

“We can’t risk more students getting kidnapped,” she says, her voice a bit steadier. “The entire school is in danger.”

“Did you receive any threats? Or anything else that might indicate there is indeed a kidnapper?” Potter asks.

“Nothing.”

“So basically, we have no idea where to go from here,” Draco says, putting down his tea. “This should be fun.”

“I just hope those three are still alive,” McGonagall says quietly. She folds her hands in her lap with a sombre expression.

“We will do our best to find them,” Potter says, his voice low and determined. He’s in full-on Auror mode now. “For that, it would be best if everything went on as normal as possible. Malfoy and I will take a look around the castle and the grounds first if that’s alright with you, Professor.”

McGonagall’s expression is still glum as she gives them a nod.

“It would help if we could talk to the students,” Draco adds.

“As long as you promise me it won’t turn into an interrogation. I don’t want them to be more frightened than they already are.”

“We’ll be—err, gentle with them,” Potter says awkwardly.

“Alright,” McGonagall says. “But not right now. I haven’t informed the students about your arrival yet. I’ll do it tomorrow, at breakfast. I don’t want to alarm the students just before bed time. If you could lay low until then, I’d very much appreciate it.”

Draco sees Potter’s hand twitch and immediately knows he isn’t happy about this. If it were up to him, they’d already have searched half the castle.

“Of course, Headmistress,” Draco says with a bow of his head. Potter’s agreement comes in the form of an indignant grunt.

“I’ve had a room prepared for you near the kitchens. I’m very sorry about this, but it would be best if you could dine in there tonight. Otherwise, there’ll just be too much of a commotion.”

“Hold on, room?” Potter asks, his voice uncharacteristically high. “As in… _one_ room? For the both of us?”

“This isn’t a bed and breakfast, Potter,” McGonagall says sternly.

“Yes, but surely there’s no need for Potter and I to share—” Draco clamps his mouth shut as McGonagall’s eyes find his. “Nevermind,” he mutters.

“Excellent,” McGonagall says. “You can go to the kitchens, the house-elves will show you your room. And please, do it quietly and don’t let yourselves be seen.”

They leave the office in silence and both stare at the stone gargoyle as it brings itself into place to guard the staircase.

“Great,” Potter grumbles. “We can’t even do anything today.” He starts stomping down the corridor, making much more noise than necessary. “Why did we have to hurry over here if all we’re supposed to do is to be shut up in a room? Together!” He groans at the last word, and, for once, Draco agrees. He can hardly imagine anything more torturous than being stuck in a tiny room—he’s assuming it’s going to be tiny; better to expect the worst—with Potter, at their former school.

Draco feels ridiculous as they hurry down the stairs to the kitchens, as though they’re two criminals on the run. Several times, they press their backs into the wall, waiting behind a corner until the corridor is empty.

Draco has never been to the kitchens before, but Potter has, apparently. He leads the way through the Entrance Hall and down the stairs to some sort of basement without hesitation, and marches right up to a painting of a fruit bowl, hand outstretched. Draco watches, sceptically, as Potter does… something.

“What are you—” He breaks off as a door handle suddenly appears.

“I tickled the pear,” Potter shrugs.

There’s a sentence Draco never thought he’d hear out of Potter’s mouth.

“Congratulations,” he mutters, not knowing what else to say.

Potter snorts before he grabs the handle and pushes open the door.

“Harry Potter! Harry Potter!”

Within seconds, they’re surrounded by a horde of house-elves, who stare at Potter adoringly. Draco scoffs. What else is new.

“Master Harry,” says a much lower voice from somewhere behind all the huge, staring eyes.

“Kreacher,” Potter nods.

The house-elves make room for Kreacher to step forward, which he does. Agonisingly slow, and hobbling. He blinks a few times and pauses when his gaze finds Draco.

“Master Draco,” he breathes, bowing so low, his ears flop to the ground. It takes another long moment until he’s straightened himself again.

“You know me?” Draco asks Kreacher. Turning to Potter, he adds, “How do you know him?”

“He’s my house-elf,” Potter says matter-of-factly.

“What?”

“I, err, inherited him. Kind of.”

Draco moves his brows, silently indicating he’ll need a better explanation than that.

“He belonged to my godfather,” Potter continues. “Sirius.” He gives Kreacher a strange look before his eyes meet Draco’s. “Sirius Black.”

“Oh.” Draco shifts uncomfortably. If he remembers correctly, aunt Bellatrix was the one who killed him. He was her cousin. And his mother’s cousin. Draco didn’t know him. At all.

“Are Masters coming here together?” Kreacher asks, sounding somewhat puzzled.

“Yeah. Since we’re partners and everything,” Potter says absentmindedly, and his tone a little annoyed.  

Draco hears a few high-pitched giggles and watches Kreacher as his eyes go wide and his mouth forms into a wrinkled little ‘o’.

“Kreacher had no idea,” he murmurs. He peeks at Draco and slowly starts nodding his head. “Good choice Master Harry is making.”

“Excuse me?” Potter looks confused.

Draco’s mouth drops open as realisation hits him. He thinks— _Salazar_ , Potter is about to die a gruesome death. Before he can draw his wand or rectify Potter’s horrendous mistake, however, the house-elves begin to shuffle around.

“We need food for my Masters,” Kreacher booms. Before Draco knows what’s happening, several plates are shoved at him.

“Um, thank you,” he mutters, trying to balance them all on his arms.

“Oh,” he hears Potter exclaim and looks over to find him struggling with about the same amount of plates; Kreacher is offering him yet another one. “You remembered.”

“Of course,” Kreacher sniffs. “Kreacher would be bad house-elf if he forgot Master’s favourite.” He puts the plate on top of another one and Potter almost tumbles over in his effort to keep them all in his arms.

Honestly, this is enough food to keep them sated for days. And yet… there’s one tiny thing missing.

“Kreacher,” Draco says quietly, bending down to him.

“Yes, Master Draco?”

“Do you have any wine?”

“Malfoy,” Potter says in a shocked tone, losing several olives as he straightens himself. “We’re on duty!”

“Not right now,” Draco points out, ignoring Kreacher’s sly glance. “Don’t fight me on this, Potter. This evening is unbearable enough.”

“Kreacher, don’t give him—Kreacher!” Potter nearly stomps his foot when he sees Kreacher is already holding a bottle of wine.

“Master Harry is Kreacher’s master, but Master Draco is a Black. Kreacher does not want to ignore a request made by a Black.”

Potter sighs and makes a dismissive gesture with his chin, as if to say ‘Ugh, do whatever you want’.

“Here, Master Draco,” Kreacher says, handing him the expensive looking bottle. “If Master Draco is wanting more, he only need call Kreacher.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind of you,” Draco says, offering his arm for Kreacher to tuck the wine in.

“Kreacher only asks that Masters wear clothes when call for Kreacher.”

“What?” Potter splutters.

Draco clears his throat and closes his eyes as he feels himself blush. “That won’t be a problem. Believe me.” He scowls at Potter, who finally seems to have realised what an enormous dimwit he is.

“Kreacher will be showing Masters their room now.” He indicates for them to follow him.

They don’t go far, just a few doors down, before Kreacher grabs one of the door handles and gestures for them to go inside. He bows again before he slams the door shut behind them.

Well, the room isn’t as tiny as Draco feared. But the beds are. Those aren’t the four-poster beds he remembers. They’re plain and narrow. Well, at least there are two of them. And a fireplace.

Potter grunts as he reaches for his wand, tucked in his belt, stretching his hand at an awkward angle. He finally succeeds and levitates his plates onto the table. He flicks his wand at Draco once, doing the same to his plates.

“You idiot,” Draco growls under his breath as soon as his hands are free.

“I think the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you’.”

“Right.  _T_ _hank you_ for being such a stupid prick and making the house-elves think we’re shagging right now.”

“No one in their right mind would think I’m shagging _you_ ,” Potter says, his features twisting into something that almost looks like disgust.

Draco grits his teeth at the blatant insult. It doesn’t matter that he technically agrees. Being shagged by Potter. Ugh. Or worse. Him, shagging Potter! Merlin!

Wordlessly, he picks up the wine and trudges over to the fireplace.

“Incendio,” he snaps, pointing his wand at it, and plops down in one of the armchairs. He spells open the wine, only to realise— “Damn it. Kreacher?”

The house-elf appears with a loud crack.

“Yes, Master Draco?”

“Would you please fetch me a wine glass?”

Kreacher bows before he disappears again.

Draco puts the bottle on the table beside him and ignores Potter as he sits down in the other armchair with a plate in his lap.

“You should eat something if you’re going to drink.”

“What’s it to you?” Draco says, gruffly.

“Fine, be like that,” Potter retorts. “But I don’t want to hear any complaints tomorrow. We’re here to work.”

“Thank you so much for reminding me. As if that wasn’t obvious enough by me being forced to spend the evening with you.”

“There’ll be a lot more evenings, Malfoy. Unless we can solve the case tomorrow, which I doubt.”

Oh Merlin. Potter’s right. And Draco will have to endure Potter’s presence throughout. This could take weeks. Salazar help him.

There’s the loud crack again as Kreacher approaches the table.

“No, no,” Draco says when Kreacher is about to put down both of the glasses he’s holding. “I asked for one glass.”

“But—” Kreacher shoots Potter an indecisive glance.

“He won’t be needing one,” Draco says with finality.

Potter snorts and Kreacher slowly puts down one glass and clutches the other to his chest before he vanishes again.

“You truly are a spoilt brat,” Potter grunts as he pops some cheese into his mouth.

“You didn’t want any. ‘We’re on duty’,” he imitates Potter. He grabs the bottle and pours the red liquid into the glass, swishing it around as he snuggles deeper into the armchair.

“Happy now, your majesty?”

“Shut up, Potter.”

They sit in silence, listening to the crackling of the fire. This could almost be somewhat enjoyable—the wine is superb—if it weren’t for Potter, champing like a garden gnome.

Draco tries to tune him out, pouring himself a second glass. His cheeks already feel pleasantly warm, although he’s not sure if that’s from the fire or the wine.

When Potter is finally done eating—thank Merlin!—he levitates the plate back to the others and leans back, letting out a quiet sigh.

“It almost feels like we’re in the common room,” he says after a moment.

“What? It’s much too bright in here and—Oh. You were talking about _your_ common room.”

“Well, yours definitely isn’t as cosy.”

“And how would you know?”

The corner of Potter’s mouth twitches as he seems to be deciding if he should tell Draco or not.

“I was in there. With you.”

“Excuse me?” Draco almost spills wine onto his robes. “No, you weren’t.”

“Yeah, second year.”

“Second—What?”

Potter keeps his eyes on the fire; the dancing flames illuminate his face in an eerie way.

“Ron and I drank Polyjuice Potion.”

Draco stares at him in bewilderment. “I don’t believe you. How could you have—”

“Hermione brewed it.”

Pfft. Of course. Draco gulps down the rest of his wine and immediately grabs the bottle for a refill. He gives Potter an expectant glance.

“We turned ourselves into Crabbe and Goyle. We wanted to know if you were the heir of Slytherin. After we let you ramble for about five minutes, it was clear though that you weren’t.”

Draco frowns. “I don’t remember that,” he murmurs. Oh Merlin, what had he said? Well, he’s certainly not going to ask Potter.

“Are you seriously going to drink the whole bottle?” Potter asks, finally looking at him.

“Mind your own business,” Draco grumbles, kicking off his shoes and tucking his feet in under him.

“It is my business,” Potter says. “You won’t be any help tomorrow if you—”

“And when have you ever needed my help?” Draco snarls. He realises much too late that there’s another insult in Potter’s phrasing; as though it’s a given that he will take the lead and Draco is merely his assistant.

“You know what I don’t understand?” Potter murmurs, his gaze wandering back to the fire.

“The basic concept of Potions? Fashion? The importance of personal grooming?”

“Haha, very funny,” Potter deadpans. “I don’t understand why you became an Auror.”

Draco stays silent for a moment and unintentionally copies Potter’s posture. “It’s complicated.”

“Then un-complicate it for me.”

Draco grunts.

“Honestly, I was surprised they even let you into the programme,” Potter says quietly. There’s no venom in his voice, simply wonder. Still, a familiar flare of anger courses through Draco, but he can’t deny the truth in Potter’s statement.

“Me too,” he finally sighs. He rests his chin on his hand and deliberates just leaving it at that. He can’t think of anything worse than opening up to Potter of all people. But, if he’s being honest, he’s absolutely sick of being misinterpreted as this gauntly version of himself Potter has obviously concocted in his mind.

“At first,” Draco begins slowly, “it was about proving myself.” He peeks over at Potter, who’s staying completely still. “I thought it was the best way to show the Wizarding World that I wasn’t who they thought I was. Believe me, no one was more surprised than me when I discovered I actually liked what I was doing. Well, after I completed the training.”

“Yeah, the training was a bitch, wasn’t it?”

Draco lets out a humourless laugh. “Oh, Potter, you have no idea.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Potter turns to him and gives him a questioning look.

“Let’s just say that if I had been in your shoes, I probably would have finished the damned training in half the time.”

“What?”

Draco smirks at the outrage on Potter’s face. “Come on, we both know they went easy on you.”

“That’s absolutely—”

“Please, Potter. It was obvious, even before we started training, that they were going to favour their precious Golden Boy. Completely unsurprising, of course. And I for one was more than used to it at that point.” Draco exhales loudly and briefly closes his eyes. His eyelids feel heavy and his tongue much too loose. “I don’t know why I didn’t expect what they did to me though. In hindsight, I suppose it was rather foolish of me.”

“Wait, what did they do to you?”

“It started out with a few tests,” Draco shrugs. “Similar to what they did when I was on trial. Only this time, it was off the record.”

Potter seems to catch the implication and lets out a little gasp. “No. They wouldn’t.”

“They did,” Draco says dryly. “I don’t know what they expected would go differently if they forced Veritaserum down my throat a second time.” He rolls his eyes. “Little did I know that wretched truth potion would be the least of my problems. They were very… thorough in trying to figure out if I was still loyal to the Dark Lord. I guess they thought I might infiltrate the Ministry and finish what that sick bastard started.” He snorts. “They really thought they could break me. Pfft. After what the Dark Lord did to me, that was a cakewalk.”

“WHAT?” Potter suddenly bursts out. “You don’t mean—”

Draco looks him dead in the eye.

“Are you telling me they tortured you?”

“People don’t really learn, do they?” Draco says with a wry smile.

“But—But that’s—”

“Illegal? Well, I guess the circumstances allowed for the laws to be stretched a little. At least I imagine that’s what they were telling themselves.”

“I—I had no idea,” Potter stammers.

“Of course you didn’t. Nobody did.”

“But why didn’t you—”

“What, say anything? Go to my supervisor?” He laughs scornfully. “Obviously I was instructed to keep my mouth shut. Not that anybody would have believed me anyway.”

Potter looks like he wants to contradict him, but then he swiftly closes his mouth again.  

“Well, let me tell you, the greatest victory was to see all their faces at the graduation ceremony. They truly believed I would fail. They obviously hadn’t dealt with a Malfoy before.”

Draco only realises Potter is staring at him when he pours the last of the wine into his glass. He sits back, suddenly feeling a little too exposed. He shouldn’t have told Potter. He shouldn’t have said anything at all.

“I—I’m sorry,” Potter mumbles.

“No. Don‘t you dare pity me. I got through it with my head held high. Don’t cheapen my—”

“I don’t pity you,” Potter says. “It’s more like…” He seems to be struggling for the right word. “Empathy.”

“I don’t need that either,” Draco snarls. “And come on, let’s not pretend you don’t think I deserved what they did to me.”

“Nobody deserves that.” Potter shifts in his seat. “Not even—”

“Not even Death Eater scum like me?”

Potter presses his lips into a tight line, as though he’s trying to keep himself from agreeing with Draco.

“Well, the Ministry made it pretty clear that’s what they thought of me. Even after I officially became an Auror, they still made sure I knew they didn’t trust me.”

“What do you mean?”

“They made me do paperwork for two years. Apparently I wasn’t worthy of doing field work, let alone get a partner.”

“Really? I—”  
  
“Didn’t know that either? Of course you didn't. For that, you'd have had to pay attention.”  
  
“What's that supposed to mean?”  
  
“Please, Potter. We've been working side by side for years now, we've been partners for over a month. You chose not to see what was going on.”  
  
“That's not true, I—” He breaks off, his expression twisting into something that almost looks like guilt.

“I know you didn’t want anything to do with me,” Draco says. “But let me tell you, the feeling was mutual.”

He puts down his empty glass on the table and wraps his arms around his legs. He wonders if he sounded too reproachful. It’s not like he needs validation from Potter. He shudders at the thought that his words might have implied that.

“I did a lot of things I regret,” he says, intent on letting Potter know he’s not some pathetic loser. “And maybe I would do things differently today, but I’d still do anything to keep my family safe.” He leans his head against the back of the armchair, relishing the warmth of the fire. Several minutes go by and Draco is almost ready to doze off when Potter speaks again.

“I guess, in the end, you were the one who got mixed up with the wrong sort.”

It takes Draco a moment to recognise his own words.

“I really am sorry, Malfoy,” Potter says quietly. “About the training. About the other Aurors.” He looks like he wants to say more. He doesn’t.

“The world doesn’t revolve around you, Potter, even though people are quite keen on acting as though it does.” He sits up a little straighter. “That had nothing to do with you.”

“But maybe I—I could have helped.”

Draco laughs so loudly, it echoes off the walls. “Please, as if you wouldn’t have forced more Veritaserum down my throat if you had gotten the chance.”

“I never would have done that,” Potter says, sounding appalled.

“You wouldn’t have helped me either.”

Potter says nothing and casts his eyes downwards.

“Whatever, it’s in the past,” Draco says, getting slightly uncomfortable. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”

He rises from his seat and, suddenly, the room starts spinning. Bugger, maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to drink the whole bottle by himself after all. He probably wouldn’t have if Potter wasn’t such an annoying prat.

Mentally grumbling, he casts a few cleansing charms on himself and transfigures his robes into pyjamas.

“I’m taking the bed by the window,” he declares. Potter doesn’t give any indication he heard him.

Draco slips into the bed and turns to the window, away from Potter. He pulls the duvet up to his chin, his hand clinging on to it, as though that will make the spinning stop.

He doesn’t hear Potter move out of his armchair before his eyelids fall closed and he drifts off into sleep.

* * *

 

“Malfoy. Malfoy, wake up.”

Draco’s eyes snap open at the piercing pain in his right arm.

“Aah! Are you trying to kill me?”

Potter blinks at him as Draco wraps his hand around his arm.

“Since when is poking considered killing someone?”

“You didn’t just poke me,” Draco snaps and rubs the burning spot on his arm. “Ouch!” He flinches. It feels like a thousand needles are pricking his skin. “What the hell?” He hesitates, staring at his arm. Experimentally, he lightly pokes himself, only to flinch again. “Ouch!”

“What’s wrong?” Potter asks.

Draco knits his brows together. “I don’t know. I—” Suddenly, a thought flashes through his mind. A horrible thought. “Shit!”

He leaps out of bed, cursing as his soles touch the cold stone floor. It feels like he’s walking on knives.

“Fuck!” Gritting his teeth, he rushes over to examine the empty wine bottle. “I knew it. Shit. Shit!”

“What’s wrong?”

Draco cringes, practically jumping onto the armchair he sat in the night before. His feet are burning from the cold.

“This is Goblin wine,” he growls. “Fuck!” How could he have been so stupid? Why didn’t he look at the label? He should have recognised the taste.

“So?” Potter asks, walking over to him.

“ _So?_ Are you kidding?”

“I’ve never had Goblin wine,” Potter shrugs.

“Potter, you—” Why is he even surprised? Of course Potter has no fucking clue. The imbecile. “Goblin wine is famous for its strong effects on humans. In small doses, it can be quite pleasant. But it’s highly addictive and people tend to overdo it, which leads to this.” He gestures down his body. “That’s why it’s illegal now.”

“Then why do the house-elves have it in the kitchens?”

“Maybe it was leftover. It’s not like they serve wine here at dinner time.” Draco carefully moves, trying to stand up, and fails.

“Wait, you didn’t say what effects exactly Goblin wine has on humans.”

“It makes your skin very, very sensitive,” he chokes. “One glass is usually enough to make you feel like someone’s burning you when they touch you.”

Potter’s eyes widen. “But—But you drank the whole bottle.”

“I know,” Draco snaps and immediately cringes again.

“Ugh, I knew something like this would happen,” Potter mutters.

“You knew I’d get drunk on Goblin wine?” Draco deadpans.

“I knew you’d do _something_ ,” Potter retorts. “There’s got to be something we can do. I’ll go to Slughorn.”

“He won’t be able to do anything,” Draco says. “There is an antidote, but it takes three days to brew it and by then, the effect will have worn off on its own.”

“Maybe Slughorn has the antidote.”

“That would surprise me.”

Potter rakes his fingers through his hair and starts pacing.

“Merlin,” Draco groans. “You know what, do what you have to do before you drive us both insane. Go to Slughorn, be snubbed, I don’t give a damn.”

Potter grunts and darts out of the room.

Draco slumps down, trying to ignore the cold that seems to be cutting open his skin and seeping into his bones.

_I knew you’d do something._

That fucking twerp. Of course perfect Potter doesn’t make any mistakes.

Fuming, Draco grabs the bottle and throws it into the fireplace. It’s satisfying to see it shattered into pieces. It’s less satisfying, however, to sit in the armchair, barely being able to keep himself from shaking. Muttering several curses under his breath, he plants his feet on the floor, screwing up his eyes as the now familiar pain shoots through him. He tries to hurry over to the bed as quickly as possible, but the pain gets more excruciating with every step.

He gasps when he finally slips under the covers, feeling like he’s lost control of his body.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been lying there when he hears the door creak open. He turns to see Potter approaching him. His frown wrinkles are on full display and—

“What the fuck are you wearing, Potter?”

“I ran into a house-elf on my way back. McGonagall wants us to wear these.”

He puts down a pair of Slytherin robes at the foot of Draco’s bed.

“She thinks it’ll make us less intimidating, whatever that means. Everyone knows we’re Aurors.” He clicks his tongue. “You can get changed after you drink this.” Potter offers him a vial. “It’s not the antidote, but Slughorn said it will at least do a bit of damage control.”

For a moment, all Draco can do is stare. Something about seeing Potter in Gryffindor robes again, after all these years, makes his stomach rumble.

When Potter makes an impatient gesture, Draco takes the vial wordlessly and downs the whole thing in one gulp. It tastes like peppermint and… ugh, Mandrake leaves.

The effect is instant. His skin is still stinging, his pyjamas still feel like sandpaper, but it’s much more bearable than it was before.

“Better?” Potter asks with an expectant look.

“Yeah.”

“Good. The house-elves sent more food. I guess we should eat our breakfast in here and then we can finally get started.” He shoots Draco a pointed glance at the word ‘finally’.

Draco answers with a glare and trudges into the bathroom to change.

* * *

 

“Where do we even begin?” Draco murmurs.

“Let’s start in the Great Hall. Breakfast time isn’t over yet.”

Draco makes a face. The last thing he needs right now is being surrounded by a bunch of hormonal teenagers, stuffing their faces. Every step hurts. At least the Slytherin robes are a bit more loose-fitting than his Auror robes. Still, the chafing is excruciating.

“You said yourself, it’d be good if we could talk to them,” Potter says, apparently having picked up on Draco’s displeasure.

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I’m looking forward to it.”

“They might point us in the right direction. Besides,” Potter gives him a meaningful look, “don’t underestimate teenagers.”

“They’re not all like you,” Draco says, rolling his eyes.

Potter snorts. “Was that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Of course you’d take it that way,” Draco mutters under his breath as they ascend the stairs to the Entrance Hall.

A shudder runs down his spine as all the memories from a long time ago flood his mind; there are no traces left of the battle that destroyed half the castle. Well, it was almost eight years ago. It’s easier to rebuild castles than people, Draco supposes.

“How should I take it, then?” Potter asks, sounding distracted.

Draco huffs. “Not all teenagers are brutish Gryffindors, who get off on saving people and volunteer to sacrifice themselves and—”

“Merlin, Malfoy, quit being such a drama queen, will you?”

Draco scowls at him as Potter makes a beeline for the Great Hall.

“We should split up and—”

“No, let’s do this together,” Potter says before Draco can finish. The crease on his forehead deepens; they would be so much faster if they talked to students separately, but Draco suspects Potter doesn’t trust his ability to listen. Typical.

Not wanting to make a scene, Draco reluctantly stays silent and hurries after Potter, swallowing down the pain as best he can. As soon as they’re alone, Draco will give him a piece of his mind. Potter won’t know what hit him. The arrogant prat.  

“Hullo,” Potter says awkwardly to a group of Hufflepuffs. “Sorry to disturb you, we’re—”

One of the girls gasps and all their heads turn to stare at them. Draco mentally snorts. They all have the classic wide-eyed, mouth hanging open, ‘You’re Harry Potter’-expression.

“You’re Harry Potter,” one of the girls breathes.

Draco rolls his eyes. “How observant,” he mutters. “They really must teach you well here.”

The girl narrows her eyes at him. “And you’re Draco Malfoy.”

“Ten points to Hufflepuff,” Draco deadpans and removes an invisible lint from his sleeve.

It’s always the same; Potter’s name is uttered in awe, whereas his name is always spat with venom or muttered with complete indifference. Draco honestly can’t decide which one is worse.

“Didn’t Professor McGonagall tell you we’d be here?” Potter asks.

“She said something about two Aurors,” the girl says. “But she didn’t say it was you.”

“Well, anyway,” Potter presses on. “We’re here to find—”

“Stella?” another girl pipes up. Her huge brown eyes and the two long braids that almost reach down to her stomach make her look like a first year. “She’s been missing for a month.”

“That’s why we’re trying to find her,” Draco says. The girl shoots him a sour look. “When did you last see her?”

“A month ago,” the brown haired girl snaps. The girl beside her elbows her softly.

“We went to Hogsmeade together,” the other girl says. “She was with us the whole time. We only noticed she wasn’t there when we were already back in our common room.”

“Was she behaving strangely?” Potter asks.

“No,” one of the girls says, just as the boy on her left says, “Define strangely.”

“Was she nervous? Did she think someone was following her, that kind of stuff.”

The boy frowns and cocks his head. “No.”

“Did she mention something to you that seemed out of character for her?”

Draco sighs, mentally opting out of Potter’s questioning. His eyes roam the tables; it’s much quieter than he expected. Many students are huddled up together and the Hall is filled with hushed whispers. It’s only been two days since the last student vanished. They’re probably frightened.

His gaze lingers on the Slytherin table; he wonders if he’ll ever be able to think back to his more carefree years without simultaneously being reminded of his own foolishness. It’s true what he said to Potter; he’d do anything to keep his family safe. He did. But it was only afterwards that he realised he hadn’t seen the bigger picture. Would the Dark Lord really have let them live after defeating Potter? Probably. But is a life full of fear and torture really worth living?

Well, he got the torture nonetheless. But whatever the Ministry may claim, that wasn’t why Draco had slowly begun to question everything his father had taught him. It was talking to Blaise, who had inadvertently fallen in love with a Muggle girl. It was the horror he had felt when his father had told him, at age 19, he was to marry a pure-blood witch within the next year. It was seeing his mother reconcile with her sister and mourning the death of an uncle and a cousin he had never known.

He may still be wary when it comes to Muggles and his first instincts may still tell him to preserve blood purity, but, Draco supposes, it’s not that easy to leave something behind that took residence in your core; something that’s been put there by people you loved and trusted. And even though he may still think and feel these things, he questions it, reevaluates and researches. It’s the best he can do. And he hopes it’s enough.

Sometimes, he feels remorseful, even ashamed, that he didn’t do it sooner, that he blindly trusted every word his father had said. The realisation that he’d been nothing more than a puppet, not thinking for himself, had only hit him after taking the Dark Mark.

He lets out a sigh, turning back to Potter and the Hufflepuffs. But then he pauses. Someone’s watching him. He can feel it. His gaze locks with a girl clad in Ravenclaw blue, who’s sitting at the far end of the Hall by herself. She jumps and quickly lowers her eyes to the book in front of her.

Deliberating only for a moment, Draco strides over to her. He forces his face to stay impassive, even though he wants to scream from how sore he feels. He notices the girl’s tense shoulders and her shaking fingers. He sits down opposite her, flinging his robes over the bench in a flourish and regretting it immediately when his aching skin starts to burn even more. He folds his arms on the table wordlessly, noting how the girl flinches and how she seems to be getting more nervous as she keeps her eyes on her book.

It hasn‘t escaped Draco that she has uncommonly dark circles under her eyes, as though she hasn’t slept in days. She also looks like she’s been crying; her face, especially her eyes, look puffy.

“What are you reading?” Draco asks softly.

The girl flinches again and balls one of her hands into a fist. “It’s—It’s my Arithmancy homework,” she says, her voice barely a whisper.

“Ah, I always liked Arithmancy,” Draco smiles. “Do you need any help?”

The girl shakes her head a little too vigorously.

“What’s your name?”

The girl bites her lip. “Ma—Magnolia.”

“Magnolia,” he repeats quietly, recalling how one of the things he learned in Auror training is to say the name of the person whose trust you’re trying to gain. People like hearing their name. “What year are you, Magnolia? Sixth? Seventh?”

“Seventh,” she says quietly.

“Ah, yes, of course. You’re Head Girl,” Draco says, pointing at her badge with a smile.

That gesture seems to make her more uncomfortable. She pushes down her fringe, as though she’s trying to hide her eyes behind her blonde locks.

“Why are you here?” she murmurs after a moment. “Are you here to arrest someone?”

“What makes you say that?”

Magnolia shrugs and Draco’s eyes flick to her trembling shoulders. Yes, something is very off about this girl.

“We’re here to find the missing students,” Draco says. He pauses when he hears a little whimper. Magnolia clutches at her book, hiding her eyes again. “Magnolia, do you—”

“Malfoy, I said we’re doing this together.”

Draco looks at the ceiling in exasperation and doesn’t bother turning around to Potter.

“Merlin, Potter, don’t—” He breaks off when he notices Magnolia’s face. She’s staring at Potter as though he’s a Dementor. “Magnolia,” Draco says softly, “are you alright?”

She doesn’t answer. She keeps staring at Potter, her already pale face turning positively white as she slowly gets up and backs away.

“Magnolia,” Draco calls after her as she hurries out of the Great Hall. “That was strange,” he murmurs to himself.

“What did you say to her?” Potter asks, crossing his arms; the gesture seems very accusatory.

“Nothing,” Draco says evenly. “But… she knows something.”

“Then we’ll get it out of her.”

Draco raises a disapproving eyebrow. “I’ll get her to talk. This one requires tact.”

“Right, and I—”

“Exactly. It’s more than that though. Didn’t you see?” Draco turns in the direction Magnolia hurried off to. “She seemed terrified of you.”

Before Potter can ask him what he’s talking about, a boy in Slytherin robes approaches them.

“Hi, um—” He rakes shaky fingers through his sandy hair. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I heard you were talking about Stella.”

“Do you know her?” Potter asks.

“Yeah.” The boy looks unsure.

“What’s your name?” Draco asks.

“Connor.”

Connor. Huh. The name suits him. Draco can’t exactly say why, but it’s just like that sometimes. People just _look_ like Connors or Magnolias… They do not, however, look like Harrys. Harrys have a tendency to appear incredibly ordinary and act annoyingly unpredictable. Not that Draco would really know. He’s only ever met one Harry. But he has a feeling that’s more than enough.

Connor looks over his shoulder, as though he’s worried about being seen with them. “I couldn’t say anything in front of the others,” he whispers.

Draco and Potter both lean in.

“Stella and I…” He hesitates, unmistakably blushing. “We, err, we were supposed to meet at the lake once we got back from Hogsmeade.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, um, we, um—”

“You‘re dating,” Potter offers.

Connor scratches the back of his neck. “Kind of, yeah. But we‘ve kept it a secret.”

“So Stella went to the lake first?“ Draco asks.

“Yeah. I went back to the castle with my friends. I was supposed to wait five minutes in the common room and then meet her at the lake. But Stella wasn‘t at our usual spot and I looked for her… for hours… but…” He bites his lip, his features twisting in remorse.

“Thanks for telling us,” Potter says, clapping a hand on Connor‘s shoulder. “We‘ll do our best to find her.”

“Come to us if you think of anything else that might help,” Draco adds.

Connor nods sadly and stays rooted to the spot as Draco walks back to the Entrance Hall with Potter right behind him.

“It‘s on the grounds, isn‘t it? Who- or whatever is taking these children isn‘t inside the castle,” Draco murmurs.

Potter nods. “McGonagall said one of the students vanished after his Herbology class. I bet that Ravenclaw girl went outside the castle as well. But why? And where did they go?“

“The lake seems like a good place to start,” Draco says. “We’ll pass the greenhouses on our way. Maybe we’ll find a connection.”

They make their way out of the castle, but as soon as they step outside, Draco feels like he’s going to faint. The unforgiving January air hits his face like a whip. His entire body starts trembling, making the fairly easy task of setting one foot in front of the other nearly impossible.

“What’s wrong?” Potter asks.

Draco raises his chin and looks at Potter with half-hooded eyes; he can do this.

“What makes you think something is wrong?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Potter scoffs. “I must have forgotten my partner is actually a blender.”

Draco puts on his most serene smile, even though his insides are boiling. Well, not really. They’re freezing. Just like the rest of him.

“Ah, I think we make a good pair, then. Since _my_ partner is as thick as a rolling pin.”

“How do you know what a rolling pin is? And that doesn’t even make sense.”

“I think you just proved my point.”

“And you’re still shaking.”

Draco raises his chin even higher, unwilling to admit that Potter is kind of right. He resumes walking, rather stiffly, and jumps when he feels something unfamiliar on his back. It takes him a moment to realise that Potter draped his cloak around his shoulders.

“What the fuck are you doing? I’m not wearing Gryffindor robes.”

“Yes, you are,” Potter says with finality and walks past him.

“Ah, that’s right,” Draco says, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “the Saviour of the Wizarding World doesn’t get cold or feel any pain, since he’s superior to such mundane infirmities.”

Potter pauses, but he doesn’t turn around. Draco’s lips stretch into a triumphant smirk, which quickly falters when he thinks he hears Potter mutter,

“I don’t feel much of anything, actually.”

He doesn’t wait for Draco to catch up as he marches towards the greenhouses. Draco hisses under his breath, cursing himself yet again for being stupid enough to drink the whole bottle of that wretched Goblin wine. He will never touch that stuff again.

He forces his legs to walk faster. He’s so concentrated on not falling over and passing out from the pain, he almost bumps into Potter, who has suddenly stopped dead, his face ashen.

“Did you feel that?”

“Feel what?”

Potter stares at something to his left, his lips slowly parting.

“What? What is it?”

“I’m—I’m not sure.” He turns to Draco, his eyes wide. “You didn’t feel anything?”

Draco furrows his brows and shakes his head.

“It was—I don’t—I could have sworn—” Potter’s gaze wanders back to his left.

Draco follows his gaze, but there doesn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary. There’s the Whomping Willow, the pumpkin patch, the Forbidden Forest… He takes a step forward and waits for something to happen, for some invisible force to possess him or something.

Nothing happens.

“It was just for a split second,” Potter murmurs and absentmindedly rubs his chest with his right hand. “I felt—I felt so—”

“What?”

“Angry.”

“Angry?” Draco echoes.

“It was… weird. Like… a memory. But I’m not sure if it was mine or… someone else’s. It felt familiar though.”

“You’re not making any sense, Potter. Even less than usual,” Draco mumbles. Normally, Potter would have already fired back a retort, but it seems he’s too startled by what just happened. Whatever it was.

“Something’s out there,” Potter says quietly.

Draco is just about to propose they go down to the greenhouses and further investigate the grounds when he hears it. A whisper. Barely audible. But it’s there. And it’s calling him.

_“More. I want more.”_

Draco’s head whips around. He stares into the darkness of the Forbidden Forest, his blood running cold.

_“More. Come to me.”_

“Did—Did you hear that?” Draco breathes.

“Hear what?” Potter straightens himself.

_“Come to me.”_

“I don’t hear anything,” Potter says.

Draco slowly cocks his head. He knows he shouldn’t, but the urge to go and find the owner of the mysterious voice suddenly grows so strong, his body moves of its own accord. The voice sounds familiar. He’s heard it before.

_“Come to me.”_

Yes. He has to follow the sound of the voice. He has to do what the voice tells him. He has to—

“Oi, Malfoy!”

Draco startles when Potter’s face is suddenly right in front of him.

“What—What just happened?” Draco stammers, suddenly feeling disoriented.

“You were just about to wander off,” Potter says. “It was creepy. You looked like a puppet on a string.”

Draco tries to clear his mind. “I heard something. A voice. It said—It said it wanted more.”

Potter stares at him.

“It was like—like it was luring me to—to—” Draco hesitates. “Where was I going?”

“It looked like you wanted to go to the Forest.”

“Wild hippogriffs couldn’t drag me there.”

“Let’s check it out,” Potter says and motions for Draco to follow him.

Ugh. Well, unfortunately this is also part of his job, isn’t it? Why the Forbidden Forest though. Why?

Apparently, Draco isn’t the only one who’s having these thoughts. The further they walk, the more uneasy Potter seems. Draco notices he’s walking slower, until he stops eventually and stares at the trees ahead.

“What is it? Did you see something?”

Potter doesn’t answer and just keeps staring. Draco follows his gaze, wondering what prompted him to stop. There’s nothing there. Just the Forbidden Forest. To be fair, it’s one of the scariest places Draco has ever been to. Oh, but it’s more than just scary for Potter, isn’t it?

Draco peeks at him from under his lashes. His face is unreadable, but he looks paler than usual.

“Is this the first time you’re back out here? Since… you know.”

Potter slowly nods. “I genuinely thought I was going to die that night,” he murmurs pensively.

“That was your great plan?” Draco can’t help but remark. “To die? And then what?”

“It wasn’t _my_ plan,” Potter murmurs. “It was Dumbledore’s.”

“Dumbledore planned for you to die?”

Potter sighs. “He knew I’d survive. Actually, no, he suspected.”

“Suspected?” Draco echoes.

“And he was quite dramatic about the whole thing. He gave me the Snitch I caught in my very first Quidditch match. He engraved it with the words ‘I open at the close’.”

Draco blinks, unconsciously holding his breath.

“I only realised what it meant when I was walking into the Forest. I had accepted my fate.”

“What—What was inside the Snitch?” Draco asks, his voice almost trembling.

Potter’s lips stretch into the ghost of a smile. “Something I needed to see before I died.”

Draco looks at him with his insides twisting. He always mocks Potter for being the Saviour, The Boy Who Lived, and even though he knows what Potter did, he only now seems to realise the magnitude of the decisions Potter had to make. Would Draco have been brave enough to sacrifice everything to save the Wizarding World? Could he have done what Potter did? The answer to that question lingers in the back of his mind and he pushes it farther away, not wanting to face the truth.

He exhales loudly and shakes his head. “I still don’t understand. Why did Dumbledore plan for you to die?”

“A part of Voldemort’s soul was inside of me,” Potter says quietly.

“What?”

“As long as that part was there, he couldn’t be killed.”

Draco’s jaw drops to the ground. “Are you being serious right now?”

“Dead serious,” Potter says. The corner of his mouth twitches.

“You’re not funny, Potter,” Draco scoffs.

Merlin. Potter had a piece of the Dark Lord inside him. The whole time, while he was beating Draco at Quidditch, while he was walking around the corridors with his atrocious hair, while he was competing in the bloody Triwizard Tournament, while he was snooping around after Draco got the Dark Mark, while he was at the Manor, his face swollen… all that bloody time, he had a piece of the Dark Lord inside him?

“Did—Did you feel it? The piece of his soul?”

Potter seems to deliberate something. He turns away from Draco, his gaze fixed on the trees. “I had these… visions sometimes, glimpses into his mind. I’m not sure about that particular piece of his soul, but I did feel the others.”

“What? There were more than one?”

“It’s a long story,” Potter sighs.

Draco still doesn’t know how to process that. He can’t imagine what it must have been like, living with a piece of _him._ The unwelcome image of his red eyes and his cruel sneer enter Draco’s mind. It’s been years since he thought about him, but, apparently, that doesn’t weaken the horror.

He cringes as he feels his stomach turn. The red eyes are fixing him with a glare. The spindly fingers tighten around his wand.

_“Crucio!”_

Draco gasps. He’s going to be sick. He’s going to be… sick.

“If you would excuse me for just a moment,” he says as dignified as he can. It comes out as a choke.

He whimpers as he hurries away from Potter, the pace much too rapid for his already sore body, and yet, he can’t get away far enough for Potter not to see. He bows his head and heaves while his mind provides him with more images of the scarlet eyes and his mother’s screams.

When he’s absolutely sure there is nothing left inside him that can threaten to come out, he vanishes the evidence of his slip-up, casts a cleansing charm on himself and strides back to where Potter is still standing, gaping at him.

Shame and embarrassment washes over him and he’s not sure if he’s doing a good job of hiding it. He would give anything for a damn Time-Turner right now.

“What the bloody hell was that?”

“What was what?” Draco asks innocently.

“Malfoy.”

“Probably just the aftermath of that Goblin wine,” Draco shrugs, mentally begging Potter to let it go.

He does, but he keeps giving Draco these strange looks.

Draco clears his throat, intent on shifting the focus back to Potter. “I always wondered why you went into the Forest willingly. I just assumed it was—” For once, he swallows down the insult. “I never thought you were forced to do it.”

“Well, obviously I didn’t tell the Daily Prophet the whole story. There’s really no need for anyone to know.”

“Why are you telling me, then?”

Potter meets his gaze and he seems to think about it for a second. “I don’t know.” He looks like he’s biting the inside of his cheek. “Maybe I shouldn’t have.”

Draco’s stomach drops. For this one brief moment, there had been the illusion of trust, of opening up to each other. The thought makes Draco frown. He doesn’t necessarily want that, but… it’s just… he’s so tired of having to justify himself over and over again. His life would be so much easier if Potter trusted him. It’s not like he’s asking for them to be best friends. Well, not anymore.

He trained himself so hard over the years not to want it, above all because being jealous of Weasley of all people is beyond pathetic. But he concentrated all his energy so fiercely on loathing Potter that somewhere along the way, he kind of forgot what it was that he truly wanted.

So which is it? Does he want to be Potter’s friend, his confidant? Or does he want to stick with reluctant Auror partner by day, barely acknowledged acquaintance on every other occasion? Is there anything in between?

Draco gathers himself and keeps his face impassive. “Well, you did. And unless you’re going to obliviate me, I—”

“I’m not going to obliviate you.”

“Then you’ll have to live with the fact that the person you hate the most now knows—”

“Just because I don’t trust you, doesn’t mean I hate you, Malfoy.”

“Ah, thank you so much for that distinction,” Draco sneers. “I’m so relieved.”

“You should be. If I hated you, you wouldn’t be standing straight right now.”

Potter turns and heads back towards the castle. That arrogant prick.

“Where are you going?” Draco snaps.

“To the Owlery,” Potter says while he keeps on walking, “to send Robards an update. And I’m sure McGonagall would like to know about the voice as well.” He finally looks over his shoulder. “Are you coming or what?”

* * *

 

Draco closes the door of the Headmistress’ office behind him just as Potter rounds the corner.

“What did McGonagall say?”

“She has no idea what that voice could have been. But we agreed it would be best to close off the castle tonight, make sure nobody wanders outside.”

“Good.” Potter nods. “I sent Robards an owl. I said he should send one back if anyone has an idea what we’re dealing with here.”

“It’s strange though, isn’t it? Why did I hear the voice and you didn’t?”

Potter seems to deliberate that for a moment. “I don’t know,” he sighs, frustration ringing loudly in his voice. “This is second year all over again.”

“Pardon?”

“Students being attacked and… hearing voices.”

Intrigued, Draco gestures for Potter to go on.

“It was the Basilisk. I was hearing the Basilisk in the pipes and—”

“Hold on, the Basilisk? There was a Basilisk? Here?”

“Yeah. Ah, remember how everyone thought I was the heir of Slytherin? Because I could talk to snakes?”

How could Draco ever forget that?

“That was another thing caused by Voldemort’s soul inside me. He was—”

“He was the heir of Slytherin,” Draco finishes, dumbstruck. “But I’m not a parselmouth. I can’t hear what snakes—”

“Yeah, no, I’m not saying it’s the same. Besides, I killed the Basilisk.”

Of course he did.

“It’s just… there are some weird parallels. Like… no Slytherin has gone missing.”

As much as Draco wants to argue with Potter’s reasoning, he can’t see a flaw in it. Yet. They’re only at the beginning. Potter is leaping to conclusions.

“We should camp out tonight.”

“Come again?” Draco splutters.

“Maybe we can catch the, err, kidnapper, for lack of a better word.”

Draco hopes the panic doesn’t show on his face. Slughorn’s potion might have dampened the effect of the Goblin wine, but he has no idea how long that’s going to last. And if ten minutes in the cold made his body ache and scream in pain, he doesn’t want to think about what a whole night would do.

The sensible thing would be to tell Potter he can’t do it. But if he does that, Potter will have yet another thing he can complain about. Or he’ll solve the case without Draco and get all the credit. No, he won’t let the prick do that. He can do this. He can _do_ this.

“Sure,” he shrugs. “Looks like it started snowing though. I hope you know how to use an umbrella charm.”

Sometimes, Draco is surprised at himself; his tone is calm and collected, even though he’d like nothing more at this moment than to make a run for it.

“Ah, I grabbed a few things before we came here.” Potter pulls out a little bag from his inner pocket. “I thought it might come in handy.”

Draco looks at it with mild interest.

“A tent, sleeping bags and… I’m actually not sure what else is in there. I was in a hurry.”

“Great,” Draco says through tight lips. “Good thing you’re so efficient.”

Potter doesn’t seem to catch the undertone; he’s already marching off… Merlin knows where to.

Mentally congratulating and slapping himself, Draco trudges after him, wondering how he’s going to survive the night.

* * *

 

“And you’re sure about this?”

“We are, Professor. You can seal the entrance once we’re outside.”

McGonagall looks torn, but she finally gives a curt nod and gestures for the other teachers to stand beside her.

Heart beating frantically, Draco takes the last step out of the castle and glances over his shoulder.

The four heads of the houses raise their wands in unison.

“I think we should pick a spot near the Forest,” Potter says. “Maybe beside the pumpkin patch.”

Draco nods, already in too much pain to talk, and follows Potter stiffly.

At the pumpkin patch, Potter reaches into his little bag, rummaging with a frown on his face, until he produces something bright orange.

“Our tent,” he announces. He taps the bundle with his wand and it unfolds itself. Ironically, it looks like a deformed pumpkin.

Draco wants to comment on it, but finds himself unable to. He has already wrapped his arms around himself, but that doesn’t seem to stop the shivering.

Potter peeks at him. “Will you be alright?”

“I’m an Auror, Potter, not a porcelain doll,” Draco snaps, willing his teeth to stop clattering.

“Could have fooled me,” Potter murmurs and lifts the entrance to the tent to walk inside. He pauses, however, only his head submerged in the tent.

Draco is tempted to shove him.

“Oh, bugger,” he hears Potter hiss.

“What?” Draco demands. “What is it?”

“Err…” Potter’s head emerges from the tent and he starts rubbing his forehead. “There seems to be a slight problem.”

Draco puts his hands on his hips, trying to look as imperious as he can while his entire body shakes so violently, he’s fairly certain he’s going to fall down into the snow at any moment.

“I seem to have grabbed a Muggle tent by accident,” Potter says with a trace of sheepishness.

“You—What? Why do we even have Muggle tents?”

“Beats me.”

“Wait, what’s the difference between a normal tent and a Muggle tent?”

Potter scrunches up his nose and gestures for Draco to take a look. Oh boy, it’s never a good sign when Potter stops talking.

Draco steps forward and peeks inside the tent. He can’t help but gasp at the sight he’s met with. “Dear Mother of Merlin!” He gapes at Potter. “Broom closets are bigger than this.”

Potter sighs. “There’s nothing we can do about it now.”


	3. Begin where it ended

“Fuck off, Malfoy, you’re taking up the whole tent!”

“I—I—I’m not.”

“You are. And you’re making it shake.”

“I—I—I’m not!”

“You are! Ugh!” Potter rakes his fingers through his unruly hair, making it even messier.

Draco sniffs indignantly. He feels absolutely ridiculous, being wrapped in a sleeping bag like a bloody sushi roll.

“This is bollocks. Let’s go back to the castle.”

“We c—c—can’t,” Draco snaps. “They s—s—sealed the entrance, you d—dimwit. We w—w—watched them d—do it.”

“Still, I’m sure we could—”

“N—No.”

Draco would rather die than cave. He knew this was a horrible idea, but he won’t be weak in front of Potter. Well. At least not more than he is right now.

“Well, we can’t take shifts watching the grounds when you’re practically freezing to death.”

“I’ll b—be—be fine.”

Potter groans in frustration and throws his hands in the air. “Can’t you just—I don’t know, cast a heating charm or something?”

Draco clamps his mouth shut, not wanting to admit he can’t hold his wand like this.

“I’ll do it,” Potter sighs.

Draco’s insides churn when Potter points his wand at him.

And then he screams.

It feels like he’s surrounded by fire, scorching his flesh.

“Malfoy! Malfoy!”

“S—Stop. Please, stop,” Draco whimpers, curling himself into a fetal position.

The invisible flames vanish, though his skin still feels burnt.

“What happened?” Potter asks. “It was just a normal heating charm, I—”

“It’s im—impossible to get the right t—temperature like this. It—It felt like you were b—burning me alive.”

“Oh. Sorry,” Potter mumbles. He looks at Draco, obviously at a loss, while the shaking starts yet again, the blazing heat already forgotten.

“Seriously, Malfoy, you’ll freeze to death.”

“I w—w—won’t,” Draco hisses through clattering teeth. “I’m tougher than I loo—ook.”

Potter drops his head and rubs his hand against his forehead. “Fuck!” He suddenly yanks at his cloak and shrugs it off. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“W—w—what are you d—do—ing?”

“Roll over,” Potter grumbles.

Draco’s eyes widen as he crawls towards him.

“P—Potter, don’t you d—dare—”

“Shut up, Malfoy.”

Draco nearly squeaks when Potter grabs him and rolls him onto his other side. He blinks at the tent, his body going rigid when he hears the zip of the sleeping bag.

And then he feels… he _feels_ —

“Potter,” he shouts. “G—get away f—f—from me!”

“Believe me, I’m suffering as much as you are,” Potter says, his breath ghosting over Draco’s ear. His body feels softer than Draco imagined. Not that he—Oh what the hell.

Potter’s body heat seems to be helping, but Draco is still shaking from head to toe, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip every now and again by accident.

“This isn’t working,” Potter mutters, his gruff tone the complete opposite of the gentle fingers touching Draco’s arm. “Take off your robes.”

“Excuse me?”

Draco feels Potter’s warmth vanish and his back aches as the cold comes swooping in once more.

“W—what are you—” Draco looks over his shoulder, his mouth falling open when he sees Potter’s bare chest. “Are y—you out of y—your m—m—mind?”

“It’ll work better this way,” he says, shooting Draco an annoyed look. “Now take off yours.”

Draco only stops staring at him when he starts taking off his trousers.

“Over m—my d—dead body,” Draco snarls.

“Stop being such a prick and take off your clothes.”

“No.”

“Fine. I’ll vanish them.”

“D—don’t you d—dare!” Draco bares his teeth at him and clutches at the sleeping bag.

“Then take,” his eyes pierce Draco’s, “off,” he comes closer, “your clothes.”

Draco gulps. This is a nightmare. Potter can’t be serious. There will be skin on skin contact!

“Come on, Malfoy,” Potter urges, wrapping his arms around himself.

Questioning his sanity, Draco tugs at his robes with shaking fingers. It takes much longer than usual until he’s stripped down to his pants, his entire body trembling and stinging.

As soon as Draco throws his trousers to the other side of the tent, Potter slips into the sleeping bag, zips it up behind him, and presses the length of his body against Draco’s. The hairs on his legs feel like a bed of nails.

Draco wills himself to lie still, trying to ignore the feeling of Potter’s chest rubbing against his back.

“Stop panting, it hurts,” Draco snaps.

“I’m not panting,” Potter snaps back and snakes his arm around Draco’s midriff.

Draco nearly chokes.

But the worst part is, his body is already starting to relax against Potter’s, soaking up the warmth he so desperately craves. He can feel Potter’s warm breath on his neck and it feels like a pleasant summer breeze.

Potter moves his head and something bumps into Draco’s shoulder.

“Aah!” It feels like Potter hit him with a stinging hex.

“Sorry,” Potter grunts. “Didn’t think I needed to shave.”

Draco scowls at the tent, willing his shoulders to stay tense, to not, under any circumstances, suggest that this is anything but torture. But Potter’s breath keeps caressing his neck, the warmth of his chest and stomach feel like sinking into a hot bath, and his arm pressed against Draco’s front is radiating more heat than the sleeping bag could ever provide.

Draco squirms, getting utterly uncomfortable from how good it feels. It should feel dreadful and revolting. Why doesn’t it feel more revolting?

He lets out a little gasp when Potter pulls him even closer. As if there’s any room left between them.

“Malfoy,” Potter says warningly. “Stop squirming for Merlin’s sake.”

“I’m not squirming,” Draco retorts. “But if I were, I’d do it as much as I please.”

Potter makes a noise somewhere in the back of his throat.

Draco presses himself harder against him, trying to push him away and seeking more skin contact at the same time.

“Malfoy,” Potter chokes, his voice low and breathy.

“What?” Draco snaps. Whatever makes Potter sound like that, it serves him right. That wanker.

Draco rolls his shoulders, hoping to hit Potter in the face, fully aware that he will hurt himself more than Potter. Still.

Potter makes another strange noise, before Draco feels something against the back of his neck. Potter’s… nose?

He shivers, just this once not from the cold, when Potter’s hot and erratic breath trickles down his spine. As if in answer to Draco’s shiver, Potter cringes and his legs twitch against Draco’s.

Merlin, if he’s going to be this jittery the whole night, Draco won’t get a wink of sleep. Great. He’ll lie awake until the sun rises. And as comfortable as this is, although Draco would never admit that to anyone, Potter suddenly keeps clenching his muscles, as though he’s in pain, or… or…

“Potter,” Draco gasps indignantly. “Is that your—” He feels Potter shift behind him. “Merlin’s balls, what’s wrong with you?” he bellows, trying to turn around. The sleeping bag and Potter’s arm prevent him from moving even an inch. “That better not be your bloody penis, poking my arse.”

Potter shifts again. “I can’t help it if your—your arse is—”

“What?”

Potter hesitates. “Right there. It’s right there. Stop pressing it into my crotch.”

“I’m not—What are you implying, Potter?”

“I’m not implying anything.”

“My arse doesn’t want to be anywhere near your cock!”

“Likewise!”

“And yet, you’re turned on by this.”

Potter doesn’t say anything to that and his silence feels like a shameful acknowledgement.

Draco tries to suppress the next tremor that seems to be taking control of his body. He fails.

“Malfoy,” Potter groans.

“I’m not doing it on purpose!”

Potter curses under his breath.

“Turn around,” Draco snaps. “Since my arse seems to be so irresistible to your cock, I need to get it into safety.”

“But it won’t provide as much body heat as—”

“Fine, I’ll turn around with you.”

They move awkwardly, the sleeping bag too tight to execute the ridiculous task. Potter unzips it and they both flop to the other side.

Draco makes sure his body is only touching Potter in the places he needs the most. Which, apparently, is everywhere. However, he refrains from putting his arm around Potter. He takes a deep breath, feeling relief wash over him. His chest is slowly warming up and he can finally feel his thighs again. Unable to resist, he presses his icy nose against the back of Potter’s neck, letting out a sigh when the stinging slowly subsides.

He takes another deep breath and immediately wishes he hadn’t. The full force of Potter’s scent hits his nostrils and, inexplicably, it makes his stomach jump. Not in an unpleasant way. Draco jerks, startled by the traitorous behaviour of his own body.

“Oh god,” he hears Potter whisper. “This is even worse.”

He feels Potter’s arse cheeks clench and to his absolute and utter horror, his cock shows interest in the movement.

He gulps. Potter’s right. This is worse. Shit.

He wills his pulse to calm down while a little voice in the back of his mind whispers to him and wonders why Potter thinks having Draco’s cock against his arse is worse.

Trying to keep his voice even, Draco scoffs. “If this is so unbearable for you, I guess we can go back to—”

“Good idea,” Potter interrupts him. He’s already moving and before Draco knows it, Potter’s face is inches away from his own. “Why—” He licks his lips. “Why aren’t you turning around?”

Stunned, Draco blinks at him. He has never seen Potter’s face this up close. Some delusional part of him finally recognises what all the fuss has been about; Potter’s eyes really are— Merlin. His brain must be more affected by the cold than he thought.

He startles out of his trance when his ears pick up a strange noise. A hiss that fills him with dread.

_“Come to me.”_

Draco’s eyes widen.

_“Come to me.”_

Merlin, it’s that voice again.

“Malfoy, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a Dementor.”

“The voice,” he breathes. “I hear it.”

Potter’s expression changes so quickly, it makes Draco blink. He scrambles out of the sleeping bag and gets dressed in record time.

“Stay here,” he commands. “Whatever you do, don’t leave the tent.”

Draco watches helplessly as Potter hurries out of the tent, wand raised. It’s easier said than done to stay where he is. The voice is calling him and the allure is almost strong enough to make him crawl outside. For the first time, Draco is grateful for the Goblin wine. Even if he wanted to, he can’t move his legs; especially now that Potter is gone. Draco grits his teeth, trying to fight through the pain.

He’s closer to being an ice sculpture than an actual human being when Potter returns. Even in the dark, Draco can see the snow glistening in his hair.

“There’s nothing out there,” Potter barks. He sounds like this is somehow Draco’s fault. He yanks off his shoes and throws them on the ground. “This is such fucking shit!”

Draco wants to say something, but he can’t bring his lips to move.

“Ugh! Fuck!”

Draco tries to back away when Potter pulls off his robes so forcefully, they tear at the seam.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Potter bellows. “I’m so sick of you!”

Draco wishes he could scowl at him. Instead, he trembles and is forced to stay silent.

“Stop that!” Potter makes a grab for Draco’s wrist. “Stop shaking, you—” The moment Potter’s hand makes contact with Draco’s skin, something changes. The creases on his face are smoothed out and he gapes at Draco as though he just woke up from a dream. “I’m—I’m sorry. I—” He shakes his head. “I don’t know what came over me.” He lets go of Draco’s wrist.

The only response Draco can give is the clatter of his teeth.

“Oh!” Potter swiftly unbuttons his trousers and slips back into the sleeping bag.

Draco sighs in relief. Even though Potter’s body isn’t as warm as before, it still feels like sitting in front of a fireplace.

“Y—You said you f—f—felt angry. Before. The—The other day. W—when I h—heard the v—v—voice the first t—time.”

“Oh!” Potter nods. “That’s right. Yeah. Now that you mention it…” His brows furrow and he looks deep in thought.

Draco studies him, his heart inadvertently beating faster as more of Potter’s warmth seeps into him.

“I still don’t understand what’s going on,” Potter murmurs. “Why are you the only one who’s hearing voices?”

“Just one voice,” Draco rectifies.

“Okay, one voice.” Potter exhales loudly. “But you didn’t feel it? The anger?”

“No.” Draco bites the inside of his cheeks as something else occurs to him. He’s not sure if he should mention it. This is the second time Potter said he felt a strange kind of anger. Draco thought it might be connected to what they’re looking for, but… he’s seen Potter snap before, when he set his wastebin on fire. Maybe this has nothing to do with their case. Maybe this is just Potter. Draco was wondering about his mental state.  It can’t be a coincidence, at least of that much Draco is sure. But what if it is connected to their case after all? Ugh, this is frustrating.

“Do you still hear it? The voice?”

“No,” Draco sighs, deciding not to say anything else. He’ll just have to watch Potter more closely.

“What the fuck is this? Where is that bloody voice coming from?” Potter moves his head and his nose nearly bumps against Draco’s. Merlin. Draco didn’t notice before, but their faces are far too close to each other. He can see the tiny mole Potter has right under his left eye. He has another one above the left corner of his mouth. Huh. Draco never noticed.

“Um, Malfoy?” Potter clears his throat. “Aren’t you going to turn around?”

“Ah. Right.” Mentally cursing himself, Draco turns away from him and waits until he has settled himself against him. He doesn’t flinch this time when Potter’s arm curls around his upper body; instead, he frowns at his own strange sentiment. He would have been disappointed if Potter hadn’t done that.

Pfft. Of course he would have been disappointed. His front would have been far too cold otherwise.

Draco tries to concentrate on something else. Clearly, his mind can’t be trusted right now. He can feel Potter’s heartbeat against his back; it seems to throb in the same swift rhythm as Draco’s.  

Experimentally, Draco carefully shifts and tries to feel with his arse if Potter is still— Ah. Thank Merlin. He isn’t. But that doesn’t mean he can’t get there again.

Potter coughs and Draco would bet anything it’s a fake cough.

“The pants stay on, Potter,” he says, cramming as much warning into his tone as possible.

“Malfoy.” Potter sounds exasperated. “I wouldn’t touch you with a barge pole.”

“You _are_ touching me, you oaf.”

“You know what I mean.”

Draco notices that Potter is trying to control his breathing, his abdominal muscles working furiously as he holds it and then releases it quietly.

“Think of something unappealing,” Draco says after a while.

“Like what?”

“Something other than my perfectly shaped arse.”

A puff of air hits Draco’s neck and it almost sounds like Potter is laughing. Almost.

“Distract me from your bony bum, then.”

“Tsk. You have no idea, Potter. My arse is—”

“Malfoy! No more talking of your arse!”

Draco grunts, clutching at the sleeping bag and pulling it up to his chin. He realises too late that in doing so, he also pressed Potter’s arm harder against himself. And now their arms are touching. Fabulous.

He pays careful attention to his hand, currently resting against his collarbone. Under no circumstances is it to touch Potter’s. He has to make sure of it.

“Fucking—” He lifts his arm as high as he can. “Salazar’s bloody ball bag.”

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Hey, leave my mother out of this.”

After a few moments, Draco has to relinquish his plan to keep his arm away from Potter. His shoulder is starting to protest. With repugnance coursing through him, he lets it fall back down, loathing his own body for how good the skin contact feels.

“How is your mother?” Potter asks with a hint of uncertainty.

“She’s never been better,” Draco automatically snaps.

“I was just trying to—Whatever.”

What? Trying to make conversation? Trying to be civil? Pfft. They talked more in the last two days than they have in eight years. Potter now knows things he definitely shouldn’t. But… he did send a few letters to his mother after the war. It seemed like he was genuinely interested in her well-being. Well, she lied to the Dark Lord for him. No. Not for him. For Draco.

He takes a shaky breath and closes his eyes. Why does Potter always have to make things so bloody complicated?

“She’s… okay. She’s doing her best. We both are.” He immediately regrets the last part.

Potter says nothing at first. When he does, his voice sounds more reserved than it did before. “What about, err—”

Draco knows what he wants to ask. He lets him struggle.

“What, um, what about your father?”

The sudden urge to hex Potter seizes him like a flash of lightning. He knows this isn’t technically Potter’s fault. Not all of it at least. Still, the pettiest part of him takes control and sneers.

“He’s a changed man. You wouldn’t recognise him.” His heart squeezes painfully at his own horrible twist of the truth.

“Oh? How so?”

“No more talks of politics, Muggle-borns, blood purity—” Draco tries to swallow down the bitterness he tastes on the back of his tongue. “No more talks of the Ministry—” He screws up his eyes, willing the stinging to go away. “No more talks of anything really.”

Potter seems to catch the implication, his hand twitching on Draco’s chest.

The least Draco can do is spare himself Potter’s stammering.

“He asked mother to obliviate him,” he whispers. “She didn’t do it. So he did it himself.”

“What?”

“Once a coward, always a coward, right?” Draco says, his own words piercing him like a dagger.

The silence that follows feels stifling. Potter always has so much to say, why is he staying quiet now?

“Is—Is he—”

“He’s in the Janus Thickey Ward,” Draco says, not wanting to know what else Potter was about to ask. “He doesn’t recognise anyone. I stopped visiting him two years ago, but mother goes there every week.”

Waiting for Potter to say something, to taunt him, is almost worse than if he had insulted him right away.

“Come on, just say it,” Draco snaps.

“Say what?”

“That he had it coming, that it serves him right, that he’s a terrible person and—and—” Draco tries not to, but he chokes, unable to finish his sentence.

Potter’s arm moves against him and for a moment, Draco thinks he’s going to pull it away. He doesn’t.

“Um, yeah, that sounds about right,” he murmurs.

Draco huffs.

“It’s not your fault though.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s not your fault your father is a terrible person.”

Draco hates how quiet and sympathetic Potter sounds. He knows nothing. He doesn’t know a thing about Draco’s childhood, how he almost ruined himself to make his father proud. All he ever wanted to do was to make his father proud.

“Yeah, I know,” Potter says, and Draco realises, to his horror, he must have said some of that out loud. “But you’re his only son. Doesn’t that—”

“That only made it worse,” Draco grunts without thinking. “The pride of being the sole Malfoy heir faded pretty quickly when I realised I couldn’t live up to my father’s expectations. It was like… being trapped underwater with no escape.” He lets out a humourless laugh. “I started wishing I had a sibling, at least that way the pressure would have been spread on more shoulders than just my own. But hey, now I don’t have to worry about that anymore, right? I’m free. I’m finally—” He swallows. “—free.”

The gaping hole in his chest he closed off years ago seems to be bursting open, flooding him with all the bitterness and regret he shoved away again and again. He’s glad Potter can’t see his face right now. This is embarrassing enough as it is, and once again, he questions his sanity for laying himself bare. What the fuck is wrong with him?

“After I learned what Dumbledore’s plan had been all along,” Potter says quietly, “I started to reevaluate… my whole life basically. And the longer I thought about it, the more I felt like none of the decisions I made were mine. Not even becoming an Auror.”

“You love your job,” Draco points out.

“No, I’m good at my job. There’s a difference.”

Draco stays perfectly still, astonished by Potter’s words.

“I didn’t have anyone I wanted to make proud, but I get what it’s like to feel betrayed by one of the people you trusted the most. And when I was younger, I wished I was someone else. I wished all of this would just go away and—” Potter’s chest pushes against Draco’s back, as though he’s taking a deep breath. “Honestly, even now I wake up sometimes and wish I wasn’t Harry Potter. I wish I wasn’t an Auror. I wish people would stop thinking of me as this glorified hero. I wish—I wish—”

Draco doesn’t find out what else Potter wishes. They both stay silent, until Draco wonders if Potter has fallen asleep.

With much reluctance, Draco is forced to admit there are a lot of things he doesn’t know about Potter as well. And he only started paying close attention to him again when they became partners.

Potter has always been this unwanted constant in his life, something inevitable and something he wasted far too much time thinking about. It doesn’t really help to get all this information now. His mind is reeling, wandering off to dark places Draco doesn’t want to be confronted with.

He and Potter are nothing alike, no matter how many insinuations Potter throws at him. He refuses to believe that even for a second.

He lies awake for a long time, probably hours after Potter’s arm slackens around him. He blinks in the darkness, wondering if sleep will find him at all tonight, when he hears something. It’s… soft at first, and then…

Ugh. Fuck. Potter snores. Merlin’s fucking balls does he snore. And his mouth is right next to Draco’s ear.

Draco tries to move away from him. A hopeless endeavour of course. He hears Potter smack his lips and is tempted to kick him in the shin. If only he could.

“The gardenias aren’t in bloom yet,” Potter mumbles.

“What?” Draco hisses.

Potter doesn’t answer. Instead, his hand suddenly grabs Draco’s wrist.

“Don’t boil over the milk.”

Perplexed, Draco doesn’t fight him. So Potter talks in his sleep. Interesting. And highly inconvenient.

Draco feels himself go rigid when Potter moves his head and lets out a low moan.

That… sounded more sensual than should be allowed.

Draco’s pulse quickens when Potter does it again. And again.

Shit, what is the knucklehead dreaming? It—It sounds—Well, he could also be in pain. It sure feels like torture to Draco. Especially when his legs are suddenly tangled with Potter’s and his stomach is tied in knots as Potter has the audacity to keep moaning right into his ear.

“I hate everything,” Draco whispers while heat starts spreading through him. The most shocking part is, however, that his traitorous cock is starting to harden.

“No, not the gummy bears,” Potter breathes.

“That’s it,” Draco grumbles. He wrestles his wrist out of Potter’s grip and elbows him in the ribs.

Potter jerks, but it doesn’t sound like he’s woken up.

“Take the blue,” he says. “Take the blue.”

Draco makes a mental note to tease Potter in the morning about the sleep talking. There’s got to be something in it for him, all the more if he isn’t getting any sleep and has to try to convince his cock to calm down again. He won’t mention the moaning though. He’ll save that for another day.

* * *

 

“Do I have something on my face?” Potter asks, his forkful of eggs hovering in front of his mouth.

Draco grunts and directs his scowl at the table.

As if it isn’t bad enough that he barely slept last night and is now sitting in the Great Hall where the acoustic level is the most unbearable on a Sunday morning, he had to wake up to the utmost horror he can imagine; holding Potter’s hand. He held Potter’s hand. To be fair, it was right there on Draco’s stomach. But still.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Potter reaching for his pumpkin juice. With that disgustingly offensive hand of his. It has no business being that warm and soft. And fitting right into Draco’s like a puzzle piece.

“No,” Draco whispers, shaking his head. Merlin, what’s wrong with him?

“What?” Potter asks.

“Nothing.” Draco peeks at him from under his lashes and catches him licking a drop of pumpkin juice off his lips. The very same lips that grazed Draco’s ear last night while he—he—

The sound of Potter’s low moans fill his ears once more and Draco wishes the ground would open and swallow him up.

“Did you catch a cold or something?” Potter asks while he shoves more eggs into his mouth. “Your face is all red.”

Draco tries to kill him with a glare.

“As a matter of fact, I am sick,” he grumbles. “Of your stupid, sultry voice,” he adds under his breath.

“What did you just say?”

Fuck. Did Potter hear?

“My sultry voice?”

Draco quickly feigns amusement. “Sultry? You think I said sultry?” He lets out his best fake laugh. “Merlin, Potter. Cocky much?” He snorts. “I said bloody. I’m sick of your _bloody_ voice.”

“Are you always this charming in the morning?”

“Only when you’re around.”

Potter licks his fork and Draco quickly looks away.

“I liked you better when you were too cold to talk.”

“Well, you—” A smirk pulls on the corner of Draco’s mouth. “You talk in your sleep.”

Potter pauses, something flickering across his face that looks like uncertainty. “Ugh. I know.”

“Apparently, you were boiling milk last night.”

“How domestic of me.”

“And there was something about gummy bears.”

“I don’t remember. I never do.” He pushes his plate away from him and rests his elbows on the table.

The sudden silence feels awkward, making Draco squirm in his seat. He wonders if Potter is thinking about the other things that happened last night. At least he had the decency not to bring it up. Yet. Then again, he doesn’t know he’s not the only one who got… slightly aroused by the whole unfortunate situation. So, really, from Potter’s point of view, this is only embarrassing for him.

“You look like shit by the way,” Potter interrupts his thoughts. “Is it still the Goblin wine?”

“It’s not as bad as it was yesterday. And you,” Draco raises his chin, “always look like shit.”

“At least I have my sultry voice, right?”

Draco wants to slap the smugness right off his face.

“Nothing about you is sultry, Potter. I mean look at your hair, your nose—”

“What’s wrong with my nose?”

“Your lower lip is far too plump to match the rest of your face. Well, I guess the beard makes it a tiny bit better, but it hides your jawline.”

Draco frowns when Potter’s lips part and one of his eyebrows slowly but unmistakably rises.

“What?” Draco asks, getting more and more uncomfortable from Potter’s piercing gaze.

“So… what you’re saying is… you like my jawline.”

It’s not a question.

“What? I never said that,” Draco scoffs, determinedly trying to fight down the blooming blush on his cheeks. That’s not what he meant. At all.

“It was implied.”

“You don’t even know how to spell ‘implied’.”

Potter chuckles, he actually _chuckles_ , and pushes himself off the bench.

“Come on, let’s—”

“Malfoy! Potter!”

Draco jumps at the sound of McGonagall’s voice. He knows she’s not his teacher anymore, but whenever she said his name like that, he knew he was in trouble.

“Did you find anything last night?” she asks, lowering her voice to a whisper.

“We didn’t,” Potter simply says.

McGonagall nods, although her thoughts seem to be somewhere else. “A student just came to me with information on Mr Ladkins. I think you should talk to him.”

“Yeah, sure. Is he still in your office?” Potter asks.

“No, I sent him back to Gryffindor tower. The poor boy was frightened to death. His name is Jacob Miller.” She gestures for them to come closer. “The password is, ahem,” she clears her throat, “nitwit.”

Potter leads the way to his old common room. Draco can’t shake the feeling of disgust at the prospect of entering enemy territory. But a little part of him is also intrigued. He’ll finally see the—undoubtedly pitiful—place Potter spent the majority of his time.

They stop in front of a painting of a rather voluminous woman.

“Passwo—” She stops dead the moment she lays eyes on Potter. “Oh no,” she breathes. “Not you.”

“Hullo,” Potter says. He’s clearly confused by her reaction.

“I thought we’d seen the last of you,” she says, her voice trembling.

“What—”

“Never has my portrait been in more danger and in a constant state of destruction than when you roamed the corridors of this castle,” the woman yells.

“To be fair,” Potter says, “that was only partly my fault. I was being hunted by Voldemort.”

The woman sniffs indignantly.

“I really hate to break up this heartfelt reunion,” Draco cuts in, “but we need to get inside.”

“You’re a Slytherin,” the woman says, scrutinising him. “You have no business here.”

“Remind me to thank McGonagall for making us wear these,” Draco hisses in Potter’s direction, tugging at his robes.

“Actually, we’re not students anymore, so—”

“Then you really have no business here,” the woman snaps.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake! Nitwit!”

The woman scowls at Draco. “No need to be so rude about it.”

The portrait swings open and reveals a round hole in the wall.

“After you,” Draco says in a fake gracious voice. There’s no way he’ll bend over and give Potter a glance of the arse that apparently turns him into a horny teenager; even if said arse is concealed by his robes.

He nods to himself as he watches Potter scramble through the hole. Yes, that was definitely the right choice. Even if he can’t see Potter’s arse, he can still imagine how the fabric of his trousers tightens as he— Oh, Merlin! Why does his mind keep doing that?

He follows Potter, mentally berating himself, and knits his brows as he takes in his surroundings. The colour scheme is positively ghastly. Even the bloody armchairs and sofas are scarlet.

“Jacob?” Potter looks around the room for a response.

“There,” Draco whispers, pointing at the boy sitting by the fire. He looks like somebody just told him he failed all of his exams.

“Jacob?” Draco says, quietly sitting down beside him. He wrinkles his nose as Potter plops down on the floor.

The boy looks up, his eyes red rimmed and full of fear.

“Are you okay?” Draco asks.

Jacob slowly nods, even though it’s very clear he’s the opposite of okay.

“Professor McGonagall told us you have some information.” Potter leans forward and Draco can tell he’s trying to soften his features.

“I—I—” Jacob swallows. “I’m not sure if it will help.”

“Anything will be helpful,” Draco says.

Jacob starts wringing his hands and his bottom lip trembles. “That—That day, Chris got a Howler from his mum. He—he didn’t open it and it exploded in our dorm.” Jacob stares at his hands. “He wouldn’t tell me what’s going on, but he looked really sad. He even screwed up in Potions, which he usually never does. I tried talking to him after Herbology, but he blew me off and stormed out of the greenhouse. I don’t know where he went. It was the last time I saw him.” Silent tears roll down his cheeks and Draco carefully puts a hand on his shoulder. “He’s my best friend,” Jacob murmurs. “I should have stopped him. I should have—” He breaks off, more tears streaming down his face.

“It’s not your fault, Jacob,” Draco says. “It doesn’t sound like you could have done anything.”

“I agree,” Potter chimes in. “You tried to be there for him.”

Jacob peeks at Potter, his eyes flicking to the scar on his forehead, before he bows his head and quickly wipes his face with his sleeve. “I thought he might have run away, but… I don’t know. Maybe he did, but…” He bites his lip. “But what about the others? I know Clara didn’t run away.”

“You know Clara?” Potter leans forward. “Isn’t she a fifth year?”

Jacob turns and blinks at him. “Yeah, um. She—She helped me, um… Some boys were bullying me and she—she helped me. More than once. She said I reminded her of her little brother.” He chokes.

Dear Merlin. This boy lost two people he was close to. No wonder he’s such a mess.

“And you’re certain Clara didn’t have any reason to run away?”

“No,” Jacob says, suddenly sounding much fiercer. “She wouldn’t do that.”

“I’m sorry,” Potter says. “I didn’t mean that as an insult.”

“We’ll leave you alone now.” Draco rises from his seat. “Thank you for telling us.” He turns, trying to ignore the horde of Gryffindors staring at him.

“One last thing, Jacob,” he hears Potter say. “Is Christopher Muggle-born?”

Draco raises a questioning eyebrow.

“No. He’s a half-blood.”

“What about Clara?”

“Yeah, she’s Muggle-born.”

Potter gives him a thoughtful look. “What about you?”

“I’m—” Jacob hesitates. “I’m a pure-blood.”

Something about Potter’s expression tells Draco he just got the confirmation he wanted.

“Potter, this isn’t about the Chamber of Secrets,” Draco says once they’re out in the corridor. “You said it yourself. And we’ve already established that the culprit is lurking somewhere on the grounds, probably the Forbidden Forest.”

“True,” Potter says with a nod, “but it is suspicious that not a single pure-blood has gone missing, don’t you think?”

“Would you feel better if they did?” Draco challenges.

“Malfoy, I’m not pointing fingers here, I’m merely reviewing the facts. This might be the connection we’re looking for.”

Draco is still reluctant to agree with Potter; something in his gut tells him this doesn’t have anything to do with blood status.

“Let’s go down to the Forest,” Potter proposes. “We didn’t get much done yesterday.”

Draco wants to fire back a retort, but bites it back when he realises Potter could have phrased that so differently. It didn’t even sound like a complaint. Or an insult. Maybe just a tiny bit.

They walk in silence and Draco finds himself utterly relieved when the cold air only slightly stings his skin instead of giving him immediate frostbite. One more day and the torture will be over. Well, this particular torture. He still has to endure Potter’s constant presence.

They walk past the pumpkin patch and linger at the edge of the Forest. Potter closes his eyes and seems to be concentrating on something.

Draco’s eyes can’t help but wander to the snow-clad branches and the darkness that lies ahead of them. Even in broad daylight, this bloody Forest is scary as hell.

“Nothing,” Potter suddenly says. “I feel absolutely nothing.” He opens his eyes and gives Draco an expectant look. “Do you hear anything?”

Draco strains his ears, but there’s nothing, apart from the wind howling through the trees. He’s about to shake his head when he does hear something. But it’s not a voice. It’s… It sounds like… hooves? Potter seems to be hearing it as well. The weird thing about it though—Potter doesn’t seem the least bit alarmed. On the contrary. He starts walking into the Forest, leaving Draco to wonder if he’s lost his mind.

“Potter, what—” Draco breaks off when he sees him. A centaur. And he’s approaching them.

“Harry Potter, so we meet again.” The centaur nods and bows his head. He looks familiar.

“Firenze,” Potter says. “It’s good to see you.”

Draco cocks his head. He vaguely remembers a centaur called Firenze taking over for a teacher.

“Listen, we’re here on official Auror business,” Potter says. "We’re investigating—”

“I know why you’re here, Harry Potter,” the centaur says calmly. “You’re here to finish what you started, to begin where it ended.”

“I—What?”

“You fulfilled your destiny. And yet, destiny still has a claim on you.”

Draco suppresses a snort. Merlin, why do centaurs always sound like prophecies?

“What—What does that mean?”

“Can’t you just tell us what we’re dealing with here?” Draco says, a little impatiently. “Have you seen it?”

“It is not to be seen, but to be observed with the mind.”

“The mind?” Draco echoes.

“It hungers after what humans dismiss so easily.”

“You mean, like, trinkets?” Potter asks.

Firenze shakes his head. “It desires what makes the powerful look weak and what’s lost on those who are content.”

Draco inwardly sighs. This is getting them nowhere. He catches Potter’s eye; he looks as clueless as Draco feels. As much as it irritates Draco that their investigation is going so slowly, it must be killing Potter. He hates not being on top of things. And he’s not very good at hiding it.

Hold on.

“Something that makes the powerful look weak,” Draco mutters. So it only makes them _look_ weak. His gaze wanders back to Potter, who radiates so much confidence and authority, despite his very obvious confusion. Draco hates him for it.

In all the years that he was adored for being the Wizarding World’s precious Saviour, however, there was a time when people questioned him, called him unstable…

_And what’s lost on those who are content._

“Sadness,” Draco finally whispers. “Sadness makes the powerful look weak.”

“Could also be love,” Potter interjects.

Draco’s eyes snap to his and he notices the stony look on his face. “How does love make you look weak?”

“It makes you vulnerable.”

It takes a second for Draco to digest all the bitterness underlying Potter’s statement. He’s about to point out that love doesn’t apply to the second half of Firenze’s riddle, until he realises that it does. Love is indeed lost on those who are content, he supposes.

“Interesting, isn’t it?” Firenze says. “How easily the hardship we carry with us can be revealed.”

Potter shifts, obviously getting uncomfortable, and averts his eyes. A million questions rush through Draco’s head, but he forces his mind to stay on the task.

“So both are true?” He looks at Firenze in astonishment. “This… thing, it feeds on emotions?”

The centaur nods.

“How?” Draco asks.

“The important question isn’t how, but why.”

“So… it’s not human?”

“On its own, no. But it is crucial to the human existence.”

Draco furrows his brows. What the bloody hell is he talking about?

“Firenze, I don’t mean to be rude,” Potter starts, “but you obviously know what’s going on here. Why can’t you just tell us?”

“This is not my journey, Harry Potter. It is yours. Only you can find the answers to your questions.” Firenze’s gaze is so intense, it nearly makes Draco shudder and he notices how Potter squirms.

“I was afraid you’d say something like that,” Potter murmurs.

“You’re the only one who can save these children, Harry Potter.”

“Of course he is,” Draco mutters under his breath.

“And in doing so, that which is broken will be whole again.”

Firenze bends down his head, as though he’s taking a bow, and without another word, he gallops away into the Forest.

Potter looks after him, his expression sour. “I really wish people would stop talking to me in riddles.”

Draco pauses. Riddles. “What did you say was engraved on the Snitch Dumbledore gave you?”

Potter cocks his head. “I open at the close,” he says slowly, as though he’s tasting the words on his tongue.

“Sounds an awful lot like what he said.” Draco jerks his head in the direction Firenze disappeared to.

“I open at the close,” Potter repeats. “Finish what I started… begin where it ended.” He looks thoughtful for several moments until he lets out a grunt in frustration. “I have no idea what that means. Ugh. Let’s just go into the Forest and see if we find anything.”

Draco braces himself, draws his wand and tries to ignore the pounding of his heart. He concentrates on the scrunching of the snow beneath his shoes, until they’re so deep in the Forest, the ground is barely covered with it. He narrows his eyes, trying to adjust to the darkness. One would almost think it’s nighttime.

“Lumos,” he whispers and hears Potter do the same.

He watches him, out of the corner of his eye, wondering if he’s thinking about his death march again. Draco can’t imagine what it must feel like.

He still can’t understand why his mother insists on staying at Malfoy Manor. He hasn’t set foot in there since the Dark Lord was defeated. It’s rather woeful, isn’t it, how bad memories seem to override all the good ones, no matter how much the latter outweighs the former.

Draco pauses when he hears… rustling. Behind a tree. Potter seems to have heard it as well. He points his wand in the direction of the noise, slowly stepping around Draco.

“Homenum revelio,” he murmurs. Nothing happens.

“Whatever we’re looking for isn’t human,” Draco points out. “The centaur said so.”

“Still, doesn’t hurt to check,” Potter retorts. He lowers his wand, but his shoulders stay tense. “Maybe it was just an animal.”

They keep walking, the sounds of the Forest encasing Draco like an icy blanket. He steps on a twig, which snaps under his weight. Potter moves instantly, his head turning this way and that in high alert.

“That was me, you idiot,” Draco hisses. “Stop doing that!”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Shielding me.”  
  
“I—What?”  
  
“The way you move. It’s as though you’re going to throw yourself in front of me. I’m more than capable of defending myself.”

“I—Yeah, I know you are.” Potter’s brows furrow. “I didn’t realise I was doing that.”

“Sometimes I wonder how you’re still alive,” Draco sighs, “if your first instinct is to throw yourself in front of others.” He gives him a sidelong glance. “You did it in the potions smugglers’ house as well.”

Potter seems to deliberate that. “I don’t think in those situations, I just… do what feels right.”

Draco scoffs. “It feels right to jump to your death?”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, but for how much longer? Honestly, Potter, one might almost think you—”

“What?” Potter snaps, and it makes Draco halt. He looks him in the eye, not liking what he’s seeing there.

“One might think you don’t care about your own life.”

Potter’s face is unreadable, stoic.

“There’s a difference between playing the hero and being suicidal, you know?” Draco continues.

“I’m not suicidal,” Potter says indignantly. He doesn’t sound very convincing to Draco.

“But I’m right, aren’t I?” He scrutinises him. “You don’t care about what happens to you.”

Potter looks down at his feet, as though he’s uncomfortable. “Does anyone?”

“Pardon?”

Potter grubs the tip of his right shoe into the ground and keeps his head down. “I did what I was supposed to. I defeated Voldemort. Life goal accomplished.”

Draco gapes at him, the grim implication catching him off guard.

“Oh, well, I guess I do have a new purpose in life.” He laughs without humour. “Letting people project all their hopes and desires onto me.”

Draco doesn’t know what to say to that. The bitterness in Potter’s voice is startling.

“They don’t need me,” he continues. “They only need the idea of me. And they’ll still have that when I’m dead, so what’s the difference, really? At least then I won’t have to—”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?”

Potter jumps at Draco’s outburst.

“Are you really that pathetic?” he bellows, seething with rage. He balls his hands into fists and he can feel his fingernails digging into his flesh. “I can’t believe I was ever envious of you. You just lost my respect, Potter.”

“Excuse me?”

“I can’t respect someone who has that little sense of self-worth.”

“You have no idea what you’re—”

“Stop wallowing in self-pity,” Draco barks. “It’s disgusting.” He turns on his heels and marches off. He knows Potter is right behind him, he can hear his footsteps, but it only makes him walk faster. He doesn’t even know if he’s walking in the right direction, but he doesn’t care. He has to keep moving, otherwise he’ll explode.

He’s so immersed in his thoughts, in the rage that’s still coursing through him, that he notices the figure that’s moving right at them much too late.

“Potter,” he shouts, taking a step backwards and bumping into him. Instinctively, he reaches behind him with his left hand, curling it around Potter’s side. “Protego,” he bellows, pointing it at the figure. It’s flying towards them. It’s almost there. It’s… it’s just an owl.

Draco clears his throat and quickly withdraws his hand from around Potter’s body.

“And you accuse me of shielding you,” Potter snorts.

“This was different,” Draco snaps. “You were right behind me.” He’s about to walk off again, but something about Potter’s expression stops him.

“Did you really mean what you said?” he murmurs.

“What?”

Potter hesitates. “About—about losing your respect for me.”

“As if that means anything to you.”

“It does.”

“Right.”

“Malfoy, you—” Potter makes an exasperated gesture. “You’re the most irritating person I’ve ever met.” He meets Draco’s gaze. “But I thought we operated on the foundation of being equals.”

Draco can’t help but burst out laughing. It’s a scornful laugh, full of bitterness. “You must be joking, Potter. All my life, you made sure I felt inferior to you.”

“What? You were the one constantly taunting and tormenting me, you—”

“Because I didn’t know what else to do,” Draco shouts. “You didn’t want anything to do with me, you chose those bloody Weasleys over and over again, you—you—”

Potter gawks at him, his shoulders sagging. “What?”

The horrible realisation of what he just disclosed trickles down his throat like poison.

All these years, he was able to conceal just how much it was about hurt feelings and anger that fuelled his childish actions. He could have gotten away with it. Nobody had suspected a thing. They all thought Draco was just a snooty, spoilt brat. Which, technically, he was.

“Forget I said anything,” Draco says with as much calmness as he can muster. “I don’t think we’ll find anything here,” he adds.

He starts walking again and this time, he doesn’t hear any footsteps behind him.

* * *

 

Without really intending to, Draco finds himself in front of the kitchens. His stomach rumbles, as though it’s egging him on to go inside and nick some food. He tickles the pear, like Potter did, and slips inside.

“Master Draco,” Kreacher booms, his face lighting up at his sight.

“Hello. Um, could I trouble you—”

“‘S no trouble, Master Draco,” Kreacher says, but suddenly, his eyes widen in horror. “Kreacher is sorry, Master Draco. Kreacher did not mean to interrupt Master Draco.” He flings himself to the floor and starts banging his head against it.

“No, no, Kreacher, stop!” Draco bends down and helps Kreacher up. “Don’t do that!”

“Yes, Master Draco,” Kreacher says sheepishly.

“Can I please just get something to eat?”

“Yes, Master Draco.” The house-elf hesitates. “Is Master Draco wanting more wine?”

“Oh, Merlin, no,” Draco breathes. He looks at Kreacher and decides not to tell him about the Goblin wine. He’d probably stick his head in the oven if he knew what it did to Draco. “No wine. Thank you.”

Within seconds, a large plate is shoved at him and several house-elves rush over to put even more food on it.

“Can—” Draco bites his tongue. He shouldn’t do it. The git really doesn’t deserve it. And yet… “Can I get a plate for Potter, too?”

“Of course,” the house-elves squeak.

Hours later, Draco sits in the armchair in front of the fireplace, listlessly nibbling on a chicken drumstick. No sight of Potter yet. Part of him feels relieved while another part is getting edgier by the second. He knows he’s being incredibly unprofessional right now, hiding in their room like a little boy when he should be out there, investigating.

It’s almost dark outside when Potter comes shuffling through the door. Draco immediately averts his gaze.

“There’s food on the table,” he murmurs.

“Thanks,” Potter murmurs back.

Draco stares into the fire as Potter sits down in the armchair next to him.

“I talked to a few more students,” he says. “Stella Talby is a Muggle-born. This can’t be a coincidence.”

Draco says nothing. The back of his neck prickles and his palms are getting sweaty.

“I also talked to McGonagall. I think we can both agree that sleeping in that tent again isn’t a good idea, even if the effect of the Goblin wine has worn off.”

Draco nods, pressing his lips together.

“I had another thought though. We should go down to Hagrid’s hut.”

“What?” Momentarily forgetting about his embarrassment, Draco turns to stare at Potter.

“He’s not here,” Potter says. “He’s in Romania with Charlie. So we can sleep there tonight.”

“Why would we do that?”

“It’ll take us so much longer to get down to the grounds if we sleep in the castle and something happens.”

“Aren’t they going to seal the entrance again?”

“Yeah. Still.”

Draco sighs. This case just keeps getting better and better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's [an amazing comic](https://artdecielle.tumblr.com/post/184102160156/parkkate-commissioned-me-to-draw-this-scene-from) of my favorite scene :)


	4. I would never

Draco tries to focus on the cleansing charm he’s casting on the half-giant’s bed—he’s still not convinced he’ll be able to sleep in this atrocious thing that nobody in their right mind would actually consider a bed—but his eyes keep wandering to the bronze alarm clock on the table. Potter said Flitwick charmed it. The heads of the four houses each have an identical one and setting one off will automatically alert the others as well. It’s not unclever. Although Potter will probably insist they take shifts watching the grounds.

“How in Merlin’s name can a half-giant live in here? This hut is tiny,” Draco says, wrinkling his nose.

Potter doesn’t answer. He just keeps rummaging through his bag.

Draco purses his lips, his eyes darting around the room. The bed is big, yes, but there is absolutely no way he’s sharing it with Potter. His gaze lingers on the bench in front of the bed. Yes, that might work.

He points his wand at it, concentrating hard, until it’s transfigured into a camp bed.

“There you go, Potter. This is where _you’ll_ sleep.”

“Whatever, I don’t care,” Potter sighs. “It can’t be worse than sleeping in a cupboard.”

Draco raises an eyebrow. That’s… an odd comparison. To his surprise, Potter flops down on the camp bed with one of the sleeping bag draped over him.

“So… am I taking the first shift?” he asks, feeling a little foolish.

“We should both get some sleep,” Potter mumbles and takes off his glasses. “Last night was… rough.”

Pfft. That’s an understatement.

After transfiguring his robes into pyjamas, Draco crawls onto the bed with distaste. Thankfully, the cleansing charm also got rid of the rather unpleasant smell that had clung to the linen. Now, it smells like freshly cut grass.

“Hey, um,” Potter sounds like he’s chewing on his lip, “about what you said earlier.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Draco says, turning away from him and feeling his cheeks burn up.

For once, Potter seems to respect his wishes. And yet, the silence feels awkward, despite the comforting crackle of the fireplace.

Why couldn’t Draco just keep his mouth shut? It isn’t like him to blurt the first thing that comes to mind. It’s definitely Potter’s fault. How dare he lay himself bare in front of Draco. He’ll never be able to look at Potter the same way. The prick isn’t supposed to be suffering. He should be on top of the world; he defeated the Dark Lord, he’s considered the most powerful wizard of their time, he’s about to become Head Auror, he can take his pick from countless admirers who worship the ground he walks on. Ah, but that’s the problem, isn’t it? Potter said people don’t really need him, just the idea of him.

Even Draco is forced to admit that he’s guilty of projecting onto Potter; just not the way everyone else seems to. He thought he knew Potter, but, apparently, the idiot is even more insufferable than he assumed. He doesn’t want to think about a broken Potter, who barely knows how to get through the day. It’s not supposed to be like that. Potter was supposed to stay the arrogant, conceited, self-righteous prick, who beat Draco at Quidditch and drove him up the wall at every possible occasion. He can’t be this hollow shell of a human, this sorry excuse for a man. Most importantly, he can’t be someone Draco can relate to. They are vastly different people, who fought on opposite sides, whose lives after the war couldn’t be more divergent.

_You don’t care about what happens to you._

_Does anyone?_

Draco cringes. Even though this is the biggest difference between him and Potter, he does understand where he’s coming from. Only, the whole nation would mourn the death of their beloved hero, whereas Draco’s death would be a tiny announcement in the Daily Prophet at best. Apart from his parents, there’s really nobody who’d miss him; and his father doesn’t even remember him. So, really, it’s just his mother. But she’s enough to keep fighting. Draco couldn’t bear the thought of hurting her. She’s been through enough. And if Draco doesn’t take care of her, who will? It’s the boon and bane of being an only child.

Draco closes his eyes and tries to shove away the tightness in his chest that always seizes him these days when he’s thinking about his mother. She’s all alone in that huge manor. She’s—

“Don’t lie on the carpet.”

Draco’s eyes snap open. Is Potter talking in his sleep again? He turns, careful not to make too much noise, and squints his eyes at Potter. He’s lying on his back, one arm dangling off the camp bed and his mouth hanging open. What an attractive sight.

“I have the strawberries.”

Draco snorts. This is getting utterly ridiculous. He startles when Potter lets out a grunt and his head drops to the side. Draco unconsciously leans forward. It’s still not what he meant to say, but Potter does have a rather appealing jawline. And, he supposes, his mouth isn’t that unpleasant to look at either. And—

Draco clutches at the duvet as he hears a fairly familiar moan that seems to be rumbling through Potter’s chest. Oh Merlin, please, not that again. As if in answer to his plea, he hears another one and it hits him like a Body-Bind Curse.

“Fuck,” Draco hisses, hating himself for the instantaneous reaction of his body. His cheeks are flaming, his stomach is in knots and he can’t help but curl his toes. Potter really shouldn’t be allowed to make noises like that.

Disgruntled, and already panting, Draco grabs his wand from the bed stand and points it at Potter.

“Silencio.”

There. No more moaning. He won’t be able to hear him snore either. Perfect.

Satisfied, he puts down his wand and turns onto his back, trying to even his breathing. Even though the room is perfectly quiet now, he can still hear Potter moaning. In his mind. And it‘s even louder than before.

He screws up his eyes, pushing the back of his head more firmly against the pillow. The Potter in his mind moans again, drawn-out and with far too much relish. Draco groans, willing his hardening cock to show less interest.

Damn Potter. Damn him and his sleep moaning. How is Draco supposed to stay sane? Surely, that‘s something that should be mentioned in Potter’s file. He‘s practically jeopardising the case. Draco can‘t think straight, he can‘t breathe, he‘ll explode if he doesn’t— Shit, but he can‘t. He can‘t! Not with Potter right next to him. But if he doesn‘t— Merlin!

His right hand on his stomach moves without his permission, caressing his skin. It itches to move lower. Draco shoots a panicked glance at Potter. He‘s still sleeping. Maybe… maybe if Draco moved very slowly and very carefully— Merlin, he really must be going mental.

His cock twitches, making Draco gasp and arch his back. Fuck, he can‘t take this. He has to—to—

His mind unhelpfully provides him with the image of Potter staring at him. His eyes are hooded and gleaming.

“Come on,” he whispers. “Do it. I dare you.”

Draco’s hand slips into his pants. He wraps it around his cock and lets out a groan in relief. He starts stroking himself, holding his breath as a delicious tingle runs down his spine and heat pools in his belly.

“Oh fuck,” he gasps when his thumb brushes against his tip, spreading the pre-come down his shaft. He hasn’t wanked in weeks and the ramifications of it make themselves more than noticeable; he’s close, already so close. He just has to move a little faster. Just a little more and he’ll— Draco bites back a moan, his arse lifting off the bed. He pushes the side of his face into the pillow, his eyes inadvertently opening when he hears something crinkle.

Oh… shit.

Never in his entire life has Draco been more shocked to see very familiar green eyes staring at him. It takes another agonising moment for him to realise that this is real. This isn’t something that’s happening inside his head. This is actually Potter staring at him, his face illuminated by the moonlight, while Draco has his hand around his cock, pleasuring himself to the thought of him.

Merlin’s fucking beard.

Unable to move, he watches in utter horror as Potter points his wand at his own throat.

“Maybe you should have cast a silencing charm on yourself as well,” he mutters.

Draco gapes at him unblinkingly and wishes he were dead. It can’t get any worse than this. This is peak humiliation.

“Did you—” Potter bites his lip and Draco bites back another moan at the sight. He quickly shakes his head, even though he has no idea what Potter is asking.

“Well, then don’t stop on my account,” Potter says, his voice low and husky.

Wait, what?

Draco wants to ask him if he’s out of his mind, if he hit his head or if this is some kind of weird sleepwalking. He doesn’t ask any of it. He’s completely tongue-tied.

“It, err, can be quite painful,” Potter mutters, “not to finish.”

Ever the Saint.

Draco swallows, the back of his neck prickling uncomfortably as he squirms under the scrutiny of Potter’s eyes.

“Are you seriously going to watch me, Potter?” he snaps, but his voice lacks the necessary venom to make it sound reproachful. It’s filled with desire.

Potter bites his lip again. Fuck. He has got to stop doing that.

“Would you feel better if I—” He gulps.

Draco’s eyes snap to the movement of his right arm, which is moving beneath the sleeping bag. He inhales sharply when Potter closes his eyes and his tongue flicks out to wet his lips. Holy fucking shit. Is he—

“Oh god.”

He is.

A shudder seizes Draco when he notices the crease between Potter’s brows. “Fuck,” he hisses, his slackened grip around his cock tightening once more. He isn’t able to stop this time, even when Potter’s eyes open and pierce him. The rustling of Potter’s sleeping bag is much louder than Draco’s duvet and Draco finds himself absorbed in the swift and furious pace Potter is setting.

He feels the first signs of his orgasm, the bubbling heat in his abdomen, the spasms in his thighs.

“Oh shit!” He screws up his eyes, savouring the massive wave of pleasure that hits him. He slows down his strokes, throwing his left arm over his forehead as his entire body pulses in the erratic rhythm of his heartbeat.

“Oh god, oh god!” Potter convulses, his mouth torn open in a silent scream. Draco watches him as he slowly comes down from the high, his chest heaving.

“That was… different,” he whispers.

Draco blinks at him. “That’s one way of putting it.” He grabs his wand and vanishes the mess in his pants, moving as quietly as possible as he lies back down. The atmosphere in the room is tense, brimming with unspoken questions, confusion and shame.

He can’t believe they just did that. What the fuck.

 _Calm down,_ he tells himself. _You did it before. You wanked numerous times in your bed while your friends were in the same room._ Well, but that had been different. Very different. First, nobody had watched him. Yes, he suspected more than once that Blaise was doing the exact same thing, but they hadn’t made eye-contact; the curtains around their beds had been drawn. And second, the thought of Blaise wanking in the next bed hadn’t turned him on.

“Stop panicking, Malfoy.”

Draco’s head whips around to find Potter lying on his back with his eyes closed.

“I can hear your mind reeling from here.” He sighs. “It doesn’t mean anything. Sometimes… you just can’t help it. It happens. It’s no big deal.”

Draco scowls at his relaxed face. It might not be a big deal to him—although Draco isn’t sure if he’s just saying that to lessen the embarrassment—but it sure is to Draco. He doesn’t do… things like that. It was very indiscreet and foolish. And it won’t happen again.

* * *

 

The next few days are absolute torture. Not only is Draco unable to look Potter in the eye, let alone talk to him without tasting something vile on the back of his tongue, their investigation is moving so slowly, he’s sure Potter is ready to jump off the Astronomy Tower if they don’t find something soon.

The only thing they learned, after talking to several Ravenclaws, is that Clara Higgins, the girl who vanished first, is a model pupil. There’s just one thing that piqued Draco’s interest; her parents are getting divorced.

Potter looks sceptical when Draco brings it up. He puts down his tea and props up his chin on his hand.

“So you think she ran away after all?”

“No. I think she was upset, maybe even devastated.” Draco forces himself not to turn away.

“Oh!” Understanding dawns on Potter’s face. “Yeah, Firenze said this thing feeds on emotions, right?”

“Exactly.”

“Huh. But we still don’t know how it is doing it and where it’s hiding.”

Draco lets his head fall back and groans. They searched the grounds, they even searched the castle, just to be sure. They found nothing. They’ve been here for almost a week and barely made any progress at all.

“They can’t just vanish into thin air,” Potter murmurs.

“At least no one else has disappeared since we got here.”

“Don’t jinx it,” Potter says admonishingly. Draco feels the blush on his cheeks and finally turns away.

The slip from Sunday night is still etched in his mind. It hasn’t happened again, thank Merlin, but there were some close calls. Turns out, sharing a room with Potter is as big of a challenge as this case.

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco sees him stretch.

“Can we switch beds tonight? My back is killing me.”

“So is mine,” Draco mutters. “It’s like sleeping on bricks.”

“Still better than that thing.” Potter nods at the camp bed.

Draco looks at it and the memory of what Potter said when he’d first seen it makes him pause.

“I thought it was better than sleeping in a cupboard,” he says, unable to keep the obvious challenge out of his voice.

Potter goes completely still, fixing him with a startled gaze. Good. Draco caught him off guard.

“It is,” he says after a moment. “But I’m not a child anymore.”

That catches _Draco_ off guard.

“What? Hold on. You didn’t—” He lets out a little snort, not feeling sure about this. At all. “You didn’t actually sleep in a cupboard, did you?”

Potter’s left eye twitches. “I don’t want to talk about it.” Draco has rarely heard him sound so gruff. He stands up and walks over to his bag. “I’m taking the bed tonight.”

Draco stares at his back, confusion and dread coursing through him. Just what exactly is this cupboard business about? He knows Potter was raised by Muggles, but… Muggles have beds. Why would they make him sleep in a cupboard? It doesn’t make sense.

Draco stays seated at the table for a long time after Potter crawled into bed, pondering over it. He doesn’t come to any conclusion. Something doesn’t add up. Well, he obviously doesn’t have all the information and, apparently, Potter is reluctant to give it.

And… speaking of the git.

“You’ve _got_ to be kidding me,” Draco hisses as he hears something that kicks his pulse into overdrive within seconds.

He jumps out of his seat, marches over to the bed and raises an eyebrow at the duvet on the floor. Potter must have kicked it off. Draco’s eyes roam his writhing body. He transfigured his robes into scarlet pyjamas. Of course he did. His gaze lingers on the unmistakable bulge between Potter’s legs. He scowls at it, cursing his stomach for jumping at the sight. It’s not like this is the first time he’s seeing the outline of a penis. It doesn’t even seem like Potter’s that well endowed. Even if he were, Draco doesn’t care. Not even one bit. Okay, maybe he’s just a little curious as to what it looks like. He knows what a penis looks like, it’s just… there are differences. He’s been told.

Potter makes another noise that zings through Draco like a lightning flash. His eyes snap to Potter’s face and he immediately wishes he hadn’t looked. There’s that crease between Potter’s eyebrows again. Merlin, why is this crease so damn attractive?

“Potter,” Draco barks. “Potter, wake up!”

Potter jerks, his hands immediately fumbling around on the mattress. He blinks at Draco like a bloody barn owl.

“Malfoy?” he asks, his voice thick with sleep. “What is it?” He sits up. “Did something happen?”

“You happened,” Draco snaps. “Seriously, I can’t take this anymore. Night after night—” He tugs at his own hair. “It’s driving me mad! How can a person even have that many wet dreams?”

“What?”

Without meaning to, Draco’s eyes wander down to Potter’s crotch.

“Oh.” Potter presses his lips together. His hands fly forward to cover the revealing area. As if that will help. They both know it’s still there.

In fact…

“Oh,” Potter says again. Draco’s heart rate increases when he realises Potter’s eyes are fixed on _his_ crotch. Damn it, why didn’t he keep his cloak on? He’d even take Potter’s bloody Gryffindor robes right now.

Draco gulps. As unfortunate as it is, his own cock seems to have hardened as well.

There’s a moment of silence, in which Draco considers going outside and digging a hole in the pumpkin patch, so he can bury himself in it and never come out again.

“Um.” Potter shifts, straightening his legs, and Draco feels panic bubble up inside him. “Maybe—” He hesitates, searching Draco’s face. “Maybe we could help each other out.”

This is, Draco imagines, what it must feel like to get hit in the chest by a Bludger.

“P—Pardon me?”

“Yeah, we, um, we could—” Potter slowly lets his hands fall to the side, giving Draco yet another eyeful of his tented pyjama bottoms.

Draco gulps. Somehow, he’s finding it very difficult to breathe. “What—what exactly are you proposing?” He knows he sounds scandalised, but—Merlin—if Potter is suggesting what he thinks he’s suggesting, then—then—

“Are you up for it?”

Draco opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. This… this is madness. Utter madness. Potter can’t be serious. Why would he even want that?

“Are you blushing?” Potter cocks his head; he sounds teasing, but also amazed.

Something inside Draco snaps, as though Potter just flipped a switch in Draco’s mind. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he barks. “Why would I be blushing?”

“Maybe…” Potter seems to deliberate his words. “Maybe you’re nervous.”

“Pfft.” Draco fakes a laugh. Since when is Potter so observant? Draco can’t let him know how right he is. Honestly, given the choices, touching Potter doesn’t seem as bad as losing face in front of him. It’s not like he _wants_ to touch Potter, but his mind keeps going back to the crease between Potter’s brows. Draco has no idea why, but he wants to see it again. The thought of making Potter look like that is even a little thrilling.

Having made up his mind, Draco raises his chin and kicks off his shoes. He crawls onto the bed, his heart hammering against his chest as Potter slowly leans back and props himself up on his elbows. Oh dear Merlin, now what? Draco is supposed to do something, right?

Acting on impulse, Draco reaches out and puts his hand on Potter’s shin. Potter gasps. Huh. Draco keeps his eyes on his own hand as it wanders upwards, past Potter’s knee and onto his thigh. Potter makes another promising sound. Draco’s eyes flick to his erection, willing his hand to stop trembling. The only thing more embarrassing than caving would be being called out right in the middle of this… lunacy. No, he won’t let Potter humiliate him.

Taking a deep breath, Draco commands his hand to cup Potter’s balls through his pyjama bottoms. It seems that this was a good choice. Potter makes a gurgling sound and his legs jerk. It’s then that Draco is starting to realise how much power he has over Potter in this very moment. He slowly squeezes Potter’s balls, drawing a deep moan out of him. Encouraged by this, Draco massages them. He stares in wonder as Potter’s legs fall open.

Draco peeks at him from under his lashes, drinking in his flushed face and his hooded eyes.

He decides to test the water, rubbing his hand against the base of Potter’s cock. He moves his hands in circular motions, slowly creeping towards the tip. Potter groans when he reaches it.

Torn between feeling bold and more nervous than ever before in his life, he reaches for Potter’s waistband and tugs at it. Potter lifts his arse and Draco pulls the fabric down to his thighs. There it is. Potter’s cock. Fully erect, leaking and rosy at the tip. Holy fucking shit.

Draco stares at it longer than he’s probably supposed to. But he can’t help notice the differences to his own cock. Potter’s is a little thicker, maybe even a teensy bit longer. Mesmerised, Draco reaches out and wraps his hand around it. Potter lets his head fall back and his hands grab at the sheets. Draco swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. He’s doing that. He’s making Potter do that. Potter is reacting to his touch. It gives Draco a weird sense of empowerment.

He pulls down the foreskin, his eyes fixed on the rosy bellend. Potter squirms; he’s breathing so heavily, one might think he’s going to pass out. Draco licks his lips, spurred by the sound of it. He sits up and before he knows what he’s doing, he swings one leg over Potter’s, straddling his thighs.

“Oh god,” Potter groans, his grip on the sheets tightening.

Draco quickens the pace, pulling and squeezing feverishly, while soaking up all the delicious sounds falling from Potter’s lips like a sponge. He aches to touch himself, to jam his free hand down his own trousers, but he must stay concentrated on Potter.

“Oh shit! Yes!”

He puts his left hand on Potter’s thigh to balance himself.

“Fuck, yes! Malfoy, yes!”

Draco’s heart almost jumps out of his chest. His hand is moving so furiously, Potter’s hips jerking in the same rhythm, it’s making the bed shake.

“Fuck, I’m so close. So close! Malfoy—I—” Potter arches his back.

“Stop saying my name, Potter,” Draco snaps, suddenly feeling flustered.

“I’m saying your last name,” Potter points out.

Draco studies him for a moment and narrows his eyes. “I thought you didn’t trust me.”

“I don’t.”

“I’m holding your penis.”

“I know,” Potter gasps and collapses onto his back while Draco’s hand moves of its own accord. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! FUCK!”

Draco feels Potter’s legs jerk beneath his arse. He startles when Potter’s warm come oozes down his fingers. He finds himself unable to move; it’s like his hand is frozen on Potter’s cock. It takes another few moments until Potter has caught his breath while Draco just stares at his own hand like an idiot. He only realises Potter has grabbed his wand when he’s pointing it at his own cock.

“Evanesco,” he mutters, and a second later, Draco’s hand doesn’t feel sticky anymore.

He immediately lets go of Potter’s cock and quickly climbs off him.

“You could have vanished your penis by accident,” Draco says chidingly, although he has no idea why he’s talking at all. He should go into hiding and never come back.

“I’m not an amateur,” Potter snorts. He sounds far too careless for Draco’s taste. “So.” His eyes zero in on Draco’s. “Should we do you now?”

“What?” Dread washes over him as his cock gives a treasonous twitch.

“Do you want me to—”

“No,” Draco says, mentally slapping himself when he hears the panic in his own voice. “No, thank you.”

“As long as you’re being polite about it,” Potter says in a teasing tone. “Suit yourself.” He bends down to grab the duvet and throws it over himself. Draco jumps off the bed and watches Potter, dumbstruck, as he turns his back to him. “Goodnight.”

Goodnight? _Goodnight?_ That’s it? Well, now that Draco thinks about it… what else is there? He has no idea how to go about the aftermath of wanking somebody off.

He doesn’t regret declining Potter’s offer, but he can’t help cringing as he lies on the camp bed, his cock hard and aching. Of all the things he thought he’d have to worry about while being around Potter, he never thought it would be this.

* * *

 

They don’t talk about what happened. In fact, Potter acts like it never did. He drags Draco down to the lake and they spend nearly the whole day searching the shore and the vicinity for anything suspicious.

“Maybe it was the Giant Squid,” Potter says. “Maybe it pulled the kids into the lake.”

“Why would it do that?”

“No idea.” Potter sighs. “But we know Stella was here somewhere and maybe Christopher was, too.”

“That’s only speculation though,” Draco remarks. “He could have gone to the Quidditch pitch, the castle, Hogsmeade—”

“He’s only in second year.”

“So? He could have gone anywhere.”

“Alright,” Potter says. “Let’s go to the Quidditch pitch. We haven’t looked there yet.”

It affects Draco more than he anticipated, seeing the goalposts and stands again. This is where Potter humiliated him, match after match. It’s hard to let go of the grudge he’s been holding against Potter for so long. It may make him a sore loser, but it was one of the things that had contributed to his father’s disappointment in him.

“I haven’t been on a broom in years,” Potter says and the longing in his voice is unmistakable.

The thought of zooming through the air with Potter is both unappealing and compelling.

“I’m sure someone would lend you their broom if you asked them.”

The tiniest hint of a smile flickers across Potter’s lips. “Tempting. But we aren’t here for fun.”

They march up and down the pitch, trying to find traces of any kind of unusual magic. There’s nothing there.

“What are we missing?” Potter murmurs. “There’s got to be something.”

“Maybe we’re looking at this the wrong way.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re trying to find something that can’t be seen.” Draco pauses. “Unless the centaur didn’t mean that literally.”

“I think he did,” Potter says. “What did he say? ‘It’s not to be seen…’”

“‘It’s to be observed with the mind.’”

“With the mind,” Potter echoes.

“Maybe that’s why I heard that voice.”

Potter seems to ponder that for a moment. “We were at the edge of the Forest when you heard it. Both times.”

“So you think this thing lives in the Forest after all?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Should we go and check again?”

“Let’s do it tomorrow,” Potter sighs. “It’s getting dark and we’re both tired.”

“Speak for yourself,” Draco mutters, even though he feels the exhaustion in every aching muscle. Tracing residues of magic for an entire day will do that to you, he supposes.

Like every evening, after they finish their dinner in the Great Hall, they split up to their respective former dorms to take a shower. And like every evening, Potter is the first to finish. Draco wonders if he even showered at all as he sees him waiting by the entrance. He quietly inspects Potter’s wet hair and mentally shakes his head. How can a person take less than thirty minutes for personal hygiene?  

They walk back to the hut, the soft glow at the tip of their wands the only light on the grounds. Even though he doesn’t say anything, Draco can tell Potter is getting edgier. His shoulders are tense and there’s a grimness in his eyes Draco has never seen before. He decides not to comment on it, feeling too drained for a potential fight.

He tries to find a comfortable position once his head hits the pillow, but is rudely interrupted by Potter, who lies down beside him and covers himself with one of the sleeping bags.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m not sleeping on that thing again,” Potter says, jerking his chin towards the camp bed.

“Well, you can’t sleep here.”

“The bed is big enough for the both of us.”

“You snore!”

“Then cover your ears.”

Draco glowers at him. “I swear to Merlin, Potter, if you have another one of your wet dreams, while you’re—”

“I can’t control it,” Potter retorts and closes his eyes.

Draco looks daggers at him, pulling the duvet up to his chin, as though that will somehow protect him. They lie in silence for a while and Draco wonders if Potter has already fallen asleep when he hears him clear his throat.

“You know, I think there is something that might, err, keep me from, err—”

Draco blinks at the ceiling, his fingers digging into the duvet.

“I mean, if I, um, took the edge off—”

“You’re not going to wank while I’m right next to you,” Draco barks indignantly.

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Draco hates Potter for being right.

“You could, um—”

“I could what, Potter?”

“You could benefit from it, too.”

Draco’s toes curl inadvertently. He can’t think of anything that would be more revolting.

“How would that work exactly?” he hears himself ask. No. He didn’t mean to say that. No!

He feels Potter shift beside him.

“I could do what you did to me yesterday.”

Draco’s mouth goes dry.  
  
“Or I could… do other things.”

One of Draco’s fingers twitches. Not a chance. “What other things?” No!

“Do you want me to show you?”

Not even if— “Maybe.” Oh, dear Merlin. Draco has no idea what the fuck is wrong with him.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

How noble of him.

“Can I—” Potter hesitates and it takes all of Draco’s strength to keep his eyes on the ceiling. “Can I, um—Do you maybe want to push back the duvet?”

Sweet Salazar, this can’t be happening right now.

“Okay.” Draco must be going completely mental. He goes rigid when he feels the weight of the duvet lift off his body.

“You know this requires me touching you, right?” Potter whispers.

Ugh, unfortunately. Draco’s lips move without his permission. “Yes”, he breathes. He’s already imagining it.

“Do you want me to touch you?”

Draco lets out a shaky breath. His cock is half hard and his cheeks are flaming. His mind is ten steps ahead, showing Draco what it could be like if Potter grabbed his cock.

“Malfoy, do you want me to touch you?”

Well, maybe it wouldn’t be the most horrible thing in the world.

“Yes,” Draco groans. “Yes, please touch me.” Fortunately, he’s too far gone to realise how fucking needy he sounds.

All the breath is knocked out of his lungs when he feels Potter’s warm fingers slip into his pants. He pushes and pulls at the fabric until Draco’s cock springs free.

“That’s—”

Draco almost sneaks a peek at Potter.

“You have a pretty cock, Malfoy.”

“Excuse me?” This time, Draco can’t control his eyes and they snap to Potter’s. “Pretty?”

He shrugs. Draco is about to say something else when Potter moves and pushes at Draco’s legs.

“Spread them a bit.”

Draco does, clamping his mouth shut. His gaze is fixed on the ceiling again. He feels Potter settle himself between his legs.

“Very pretty indeed,” Draco hears him murmur.

He bites his tongue when Potter’s fingers ghost over his cock. Merlin, this is unbearable. Why isn’t Potter touching him properly?

“Do you want me to wank you off?” Potter asks.

Draco inhales sharply. “Yes.”

“Hmmm.” Potter grips his cock and starts pumping.

“Aaah!”

“Oh, I didn’t take you for a screamer.”

Draco is too busy biting back a moan to fire back a retort. He throws back his hands, pushing his knuckles against the wall behind him when Potter twists his hand.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registers that Potter’s other hand is stroking the inside of his thigh; it’s not unpleasant. Not unpleasant at all.

“Do you want me to do something else?” Potter asks. His low voice makes Draco’s stomach jump.

“Don’t—Don’t stop,” he wheezes.

“Alright.” He can practically hear Potter smirk. “But I’m pretty sure you’d like what I have in mind.”

Draco lets his arms flop back down on the bed and shoots Potter a doubtful glance. He freezes when Potter leans forward.

“I’d like to check if your cock tastes as good as it looks.”

“W—What?”

Holy fucking Mother of Merlin.

His eyes dart down to Potter’s mouth. The thought of that plump bottom lip on his cock makes his scalp prickle.

“So what do you say?” Potter murmurs, bending down so Draco feels his breath on his cock. “Do you want me to?”

“Merlin!” Draco lets his head fall onto the pillow and screws up his eyes. “Merlin, yes!”

He feels another puff of air on his cock and he doesn’t even care if Potter is laughing or smirking, as long as he—

“Aaaah!” Draco almost leaps completely off the bed when he feels Potter’s warm tongue press against the tip of his cock.

“Hmmm. You _are_ tasty.”

Fuck. Potter is going to kill him. Draco’s hands reach for his pillow and his fingers dig into it. Potter licks a strip from the base of his cock back to the tip and just when Draco thinks he’s about to lose it, his cock is engulfed by heat.

“Shit!”

The pressure of Potter’s lips isn’t as powerful as his hand, but, oh, does he make up for it with his tongue.

“Hmmm.”

Merlin, Potter sounds like he’s having treacle tart. He swirls his tongue over Draco’s tip and presses it against the underside as he lowers his head.

“Oh!”

Draco forces his eyes to open and props himself up on his elbows. Potter is bobbing his head, sucking on Draco’s cock as though it’s the air he needs to breathe. Seeing that mop of unruly black hair between his thighs, seeing his cock sliding in and out of that mouth and feeling the heat of it nearly tips Draco over the edge. He gasps, a strange sense of desire coursing through him when he sees Potter has pushed down his own pants and is moving his hand over his cock furiously. The sight is mesmerising; it gets even better when Potter makes a noise somewhere in the back of his throat and starts sucking harder on Draco’s cock. He’s almost there. He’s almost—

“Fuck!”

A wave of panic washes over him. Is he supposed to tell Potter? Because… what happens if he comes and his cock is still in Potter’s mouth?

Oh. Something’s off. Potter stopped moving. Draco’s eyes lock with his and the intensity of his stare is almost enough to make him come on the spot.

“What’s wrong?” Potter asks.

Draco tries to calm himself down. “I’m—” He swallows. “I’m close.”

“Good. Me too.” The corner of Potter’s mouth twitches before he sucks Draco back into it.

Draco falls onto his back, his hands fumbling around the mattress helplessly.

“Oh shit!”

Potter’s lips are almost all the way down to the base of his cock.

“Potter! Fuck!”

He feels his muscles contract as stars explode in front of his eyes. Without realising what he’s doing, his hand dips into Potter’s hair, grabbing it as heat spreads through him.

Wheezing, he looks down at Potter who finally releases his cock with a soft ‘pop’. Draco’s eyes widen when he sees something dripping down Potter’s bottom lip. His tongue flicks out to lick it up. Draco shudders.

“Holy shit.” Potter grabs Draco’s thigh as he comes between them, his fingers warm against Draco’s skin.

It’s only then that Draco realises his hand is still buried in Potter’s hair. When did that even happen? Horror-struck, he withdraws it.

“Phew! That wasn’t bad,” Potter says, flopping onto his stomach.

Draco has no idea what to say to that. He watches as Potter vanishes the mess with a wave of his hand—the bloody show-off—and crawls up to his pillow.

“I assume that will keep the, err, nighttime disturbance at bay,” he says. He wraps himself in the sleeping bag, even zipping it up, and lies down with his back turned to Draco.

What the hell just happened? A few moments ago, Potter was moaning around Draco’s cock, and now? It’s not like Draco is asking for a bedtime story, but… he’s literally getting the cold shoulder right now. Well, maybe it’s for the best. He doesn’t feel like talking to Potter. This is… very confusing. Because as much as he’d liked to deny it, he wanted Potter to touch him. He asked Potter to touch him. What a monumental error of judgement.

* * *

 

“Oh god, yes! Yes, like that. Just like that!”

Draco grunts, trying to ignore the pain that shoots through his jaw. He tries to mimic the twists of Potter’s tongue from the night before. He can practically still feel them on his cock. He hollows his cheeks, trying to suck Potter deeper into his mouth. Potter almost screams. Draco almost chokes.

“Malfoy, wait. Wait!”

“What?” Draco snaps, his stomach sinking. Did he do something wrong?

“I’m going to come if you—”

“Isn’t that the point?” Draco deadpans.

“Well, yes, but—” Potter bites his lip. It makes Draco want to sink his teeth into it as well. “We could do something that’s even better than this.”

Draco cocks his head.

“Something we might both enjoy.”

Why is Potter looking at him like that? It makes Draco uneasy.

“Hold on, let me—” Potter nudges him and Draco moves aside, still not sure about what Potter is suggesting. He inhales sharply when Potter flops onto his front.

“What? You want to—” Draco can’t even finish the sentence in his head. All the blood seems to be rushing to his cock. He can’t believe the sight in front of him. He’s never seen Potter’s naked arse before. It’s a nice arse. Plump and firm.

“Hold your hippogriffs, Malfoy.”

Draco’s eyes dart to his face. He’s smiling. Potter is smiling at him. Dear Merlin.

Potter reaches for his wand and Draco’s eyes wander over his back, admiring his tanned skin. Inexplicably, he aches to touch it. Potter murmurs a spell Draco doesn’t recognise and hisses under his breath when its purpose is seemingly accomplished. Only… Draco has no idea what that spell did.

His pulse quickens when Potter throws his wand aside and gestures for Draco to move closer.

“What did you just do?”

Potter grins over his shoulder. “Come here and find out.”

It’s a miracle Draco doesn’t pass out.

“Grab your cock,” Potter says.

Draco does, little beads of sweat forming on his forehead. What the fuck are they going to do? His nerves and the anticipation are killing him.

“Good.” Potter lifts his hips. “Now put it in.”

Stunned, Draco watches as Potter’s hands move to his arse. He’s—He’s holding himself open for Draco. And there’s—Oh Merlin! There’s lube smeared all over the cleft. Is that what the spell did?

“You—You want me to—” Draco chokes.

“Relax, Malfoy,” Potter smirks against the pillow. “Put your cock between my cheeks.”

Oh. Really? And then what?

“Hey, if you don’t want to, we—”

“Who said I don’t want to?” Draco barks. He narrows his eyes, mustering up all his courage. “I just thought you’d let me fuck you.” His tongue curls as soon as the words leave his mouth.

Potter grins at him. “Hmmm. Maybe another time.”

What?

“Come on, put it in already.”

Curiosity piqued, Draco does as he’s told.

“You can let go of your cock now.” Potter sounds so amused, Draco wants to slap him.

As soon as Draco withdraws his hand, Potter pushes his cheeks together, trapping Draco’s cock.

“Oh!”

This is… not that bad.

“Now move.”

Instinctively, Draco pushes forward, until his groin is pressed against Potter’s arse.

“Oh!” Draco swallows. Okay. He gets the idea. He moves slowly at first, pulling his hips back and pushing them forward, all the while staring at his own cock as it slides against Potter.

“Nnngh!” Potter pushes his face into the pillow.

Draco picks up the pace, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as heat spreads through him.

“How is this—Oh!” Draco’s hands curl around Potter’s hips to keep himself from falling over.

“Oh god, yes, grab my arse. Grab my arse!”

Draco does, replacing Potter’s hands. Oh. Now he can—

“Oh Merlin!”

Now he can control the pressure.

“Fuck!” Potter props himself up on his elbows, panting.

“How is this—” Draco struggles for the right words. “How is this doing anything for you?”

“Your—Your cock is—Fuck, yes!” Potter bangs his right hand against the mattress. “Your cock is rubbing against my—my—Nnnngh!”

“Oh.” In the back of his mind, Draco wonders why Potter would want anything rubbing against that particular body part. Then again, he’s letting Draco do it and it feels so fucking good, so he can’t really complain.

“Yes! Yes!”

Merlin, Draco could come just from the sounds Potter is making.

“Oh god, please, I need—Nnngh! Please!”

Anything. Draco will give him anything.

“Fuck!”

Draco feels Potter shift and he realises he’s grabbed his own cock, working it in a maddening pace.

“Fuck, Malfoy! Malfoy!”

Draco shudders, the echo of his name falling from Potter’s lips with so much ease pushing him over the edge.

“Shit! Potter!” His fingers dig into the soft skin of Potter’s arse.

“Fuck, yes! Yes! Yes!” Potter’s body jerks against Draco and he lets out one last moan that sounds so filthy, Draco wonders if he should bottle up the memory of it, so he can hear it again and again and again.

As soon as Potter stills, Draco knows the moment is over; the moment of temporary mindlessness. He isn’t surprised anymore or confused when Potter waves his wand and immediately curls up to sleep; he’s just irritated. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but it sure as hell isn’t this.

Unnerved, he crawls to the other side of the bed and pulls the duvet over him. He wishes his chest didn’t feel this tight. He wishes he had told Potter no. If only it were that easy. Draco’s mind seems to shut down every time Potter just looks at him with that hunger in his eyes. Ugh. It’s not like Draco’s not getting his Galleon’s worth, it’s bloody fantastic while they’re… doing what they’re doing; it’s the moment after that makes Draco’s blood run cold. Potter doesn’t even deign to look at him.

Draco doesn’t know why it bothers him so much. He just knows that it does.

* * *

 

“Damn it. They don’t know what it could be either.”

Draco wonders how Potter hasn’t suffocated himself yet; the spoonful of porridge is dangling from his mouth while his eyes are fixed on the letter he just tore open.

“Robards put the whole department to research, but nobody found anything.”

“Guess we’ll have to find out on our own.”

Potter grunts in agreement, his eyes still darting over the letter.

“Potter. Malfoy.”

“Professor Flitwick.” Draco nods at him in greeting.

“The Headmistress wants to see you in her office.”

“Is something wrong?” Potter puts down the letter.

“It’s best not to talk about it here,” Flitwick says, lowering his voice.

Well, that can’t be good.

The three of them hurry to the seventh floor.

“Aurora,” Flitwick tells the stone gargoyle and it steps aside to grant them access to the circular staircase.

They find McGonagall pacing the length of her office, one hand on her hip, the other pressed against her temple. Professors Sprout and Slughorn are sitting by her desk, looking crestfallen.

“Headmistress,” Potter begins.

She stops dead. Her features are twisted in horror. “Another student is missing.”

“What? How? When?” Draco blurts, horror washing over him.

“We’re not sure. His classmates say they haven’t seen him since yesterday morning. They only came to Professor Slughorn now because they didn’t want to give him a false alarm.”

“Professor Slughorn?” Potter echoes, his gaze wandering over to him. Draco notices the surprise in his voice. “It’s a Slytherin? The missing student?”

Slughorn and McGonagall both nod.

“So much for your theory,” Draco whispers to Potter, who immediately starts shaking his head.

“No, I could still be right.”

Draco raises an eyebrow at him.

“I know this might be an odd question,” Potter says, addressing the teachers, “but what’s the missing student’s blood status?”

Slughorn leans forward and puts a hand on his thigh. “Connor’s family belongs to the Sacred Twenty-Eight.”

Potter’s mouth falls open. “Connor?”

Oh no.

“Connor Burke,” Slughorn nods. “But why is that important?”

“It was just a theory,” Potter says. Draco can tell he’s irritated that he’s just been proven wrong.

“Now we know that isn’t the connection,” Draco says. “I’m still convinced there’s a different pattern.”

“Their emotional state,” Potter finishes his thought. Draco nods.

“I still don’t know about this. I’ve never heard of anything that feeds on emotions,” McGonagall says with a shudder.

“But even Connor’s disappearance fits into it. I bet he was still devastated and went out looking for—”

“Looking for the others,” Potter interjects. He gives Draco a meaningful glance. Merlin, how Gryffindor of him, wanting to protect Connor’s and Stella’s little secret. “He was pretty worked up about the whole thing.”

“Should we send the students home?” Flitwick asks.

“I would feel better if we did,” McGonagall sighs, “but I don’t want to leave Hogwarts in the hands of the Ministry.” She glances in Draco’s and Potter’s direction. “No offence, gentlemen.”

“None taken,” Potter grunts.

“If I may suggest something.”

They all turn to the portrait behind McGonagall’s desk. Draco freezes. Dumbledore. In all the hecticness, he hadn’t realised he was there.

“Minerva, I think it would be best to ban all activities outside the castle.”

“Surely that doesn’t include my class,” Professor Sprout says indignantly.

“Pomona, we can’t risk it. Since students are disappearing in broad daylight, I see no other way.”

“Professor,” Potter begins, stepping closer to the portrait. “Do you know anything about this?”

“Minerva has kept me informed, but I’m afraid I’m as nonplussed as the rest of you.”

Potter presses his lips together. Draco knows that look. He’s trying to decide if he should say what he clearly wants to, but something’s holding him back.

“Err, Professors,” he murmurs, “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but I’d like to discuss something with Professor Dumbledore in private.”

McGonagall thrusts her hands onto her hips.

“It’s personal,” Potter says in an appeasing tone. “It might be connected to the case, but… maybe it’s not. If it is, I’ll definitely discuss it with you later.”

The teachers don’t seem happy about it, but they all turn towards the door. Draco follows them.

  
“Where are you going?” Potter hisses.

“I thought you—”

“No, no. _You_ stay.”

Draco walks back to Potter’s side, feeling foolish. How was he supposed to know Potter’s personal matters aren’t off limits to him?

“May I say,” Dumbledore smiles as the teachers close the door behind them, “that it is a nice surprise to see you here, Draco.”

Draco swallows.

“I can imagine how hard it must have been to defy your family’s wishes. I’m delighted that you seem to have taken your life into your own hands.”

Draco doesn’t know what to say to that. Out of the mouth of any other person, those words would have sounded condescending. But it’s not just that. Draco hasn’t seen him or talked to him since that fateful night on top of the Astronomy Tower. It still haunts him. The pain of it was lessened after he learned that Dumbledore had been cursed and it was his and Snape’s plan all along to let the Potions Master kill him. Still. He can’t look into those piercing blue eyes without feeling shame washing over him.

“Err, Professor. About what I wanted to discuss with you.”

“Yes, what is it, Harry?”

“It’s something Firenze said. We ran into him in the Forbidden Forest.”

“Oh?”

“He made it sound like…” Potter hesitates. “He made it sound like this is about me.”

Dumbledore sits up a little straighter and brushes his fingers through his beard. “Go on.”

“He said… um…” Potter shoots Draco a glance, silently asking him to help. Typical. The prick has the memory of a goldfish.

Draco takes a deep breath, willing his voice to sound confident and calm. “He said that Potter has to finish what he started and begin where it ended. He also said something about making something broken whole again.”

“And he said destiny still has a claim on me,” Potter adds.

Dumbledore looks pensive as he continues to stroke his beard. “Harry.” He sounds serious. “Can I ask you something? And can I count on you to answer honestly?”

“Um, yes?” Potter doesn’t sound so sure.

“How have you been feeling?”

Potter blinks at him. “What do you mean?”

“Do you find yourself easily irritated?”

Draco can’t help but snort. “He’s always been easily irritated.”

“Let me rephrase,” Dumbledore says. “Harry, are you happy?”

Potter doesn’t say anything. He looks at Dumbledore as though he just asked him to unearth a fully matured Mandrake without ear protection.

“Am I to take it that means no?”

“I mean,” Potter looks utterly uncomfortable. “Is anybody truly happy?”

Draco has to admit, it is a bit of a vague question.

“Ah, the question of all questions. Can true happiness be achieved, or is it merely an illusion of our minds?”

“Professor,” Potter says, sounding a little impatient now. “Do you know what Firenze was talking about?”

“There’s something else,” Draco blurts and Potter’s head whips around to him. His gaze is almost pleading. Draco tries to ignore it. “We have to tell him, Potter.” He turns to the portrait. “Did Professor McGonagall tell you about the voice I’ve been hearing?”

“Indeed, she did.”

“Well, whenever I heard it, something happened to Potter.”

“Is that so?” Dumbledore sounds intrigued.

“Tell him,” Draco hisses.

Potter seems to be biting the inside of his cheek. “I—I still can’t explain it properly, but… one minute, everything’s fine and then, out of nowhere, I get so angry—” He breaks off and looks down at his shoes.

Dumbledore studies him. “Is it by chance similar to what you felt when Lord Voldemort took possession of your mind?”

“Not really,” Potter murmurs. “It’s… No, it feels different. This anger… it feels familiar. I just—I don’t know how to explain it.”

“It’s alright, Harry,” Dumbledore smiles.

“Have you heard anything like that before? Do you know what’s going on with me?”

“Sadly, no.”

Draco cocks his head when he sees a strange twinkle in his eyes. He can’t shake the feeling that Dumbledore does know something.

“Let us speak again in a few days.” Dumbledore moves as if to leave the portrait. “And Harry, if you should find yourself gripped by anger again, try not to fight it. Embrace it.”

“What? What do you—”

Dumbledore vanishes without a backwards glance.

“What the bloody hell?” Potter mutters.

“You didn’t really expect a straight answer from him, did you? After what you said about him, I—”

“For a moment there, I thought you were going to tell him… what I told you in the Forest.”

It feels like Potter just slapped him across the face. Yes, he could have told Dumbledore that his precious protégé is showing alarming signs of being world-worn. He probably should have. It wouldn’t be the worst thing for Potter to get help, and yet Draco suspects that Potter’s stubbornness would get in the way.

“If you’re waiting for the right moment to tell somebody, to get me sacked, don’t. Just do it now.” Potter sighs.

“I would never—” Draco cuts himself off before he can say anything that might give Potter the wrong impression.

“Okay.” Potter nods, but he sounds surprised. Draco practically feels his gaze bore into him, as though Potter is driving a dagger into his chest. The following silence feels meaningful somehow. Potter breaks the moment first by striding over to the door.

“I think you’re right about Connor,” he says. “I think he was trying to find Stella. He was probably highly emotional.”

“And he probably heard the voice… and followed it.” Draco shudders at the memory of its allure.

“But where did it lure him? Ugh, this is driving me mad!”

“Let’s go down to the Forest again,” Draco suggests, even though he’d definitely prefer not to.

“Yeah, maybe we’ll see Firenze. This time, I’m not going to let him go without some answers,” Potter says as they descend the staircase.

Hold on. What was that? Draco’s eyes dart to the end of the corridor. Someone’s there. Someone who jumped behind the corner when they saw him and Potter.

“Wait here for me,” Draco murmurs.

“What?”

“Just wait here. I’ll be right back.”

He tries to move as noiselessly as possible. He saw blonde hair and Ravenclaw robes, he’s sure of it. He slows down once he reaches the corner and takes a peek. As he suspected, he finds Magnolia there. She’s sitting on the floor, her back against the wall and her face in her hands.

“Magnolia,” Draco says quietly as he crouches down beside her.

He hears her snivel.

“Magnolia,” he tries again.

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” she blubbers out.

Draco’s heart jumps. “What are you talking about?”

“I—I didn’t—I just—I didn’t know that it could do that.”

“Do what? What is ‘it’?”

“The tree,” she sobs.

The tree? What? What is this girl talking about.

“Magnolia,” Draco says. “Please start from the beginning. What happened?”

She shakes her head, her blond curls bouncing against her hands.

“Please, Magnolia. You do want us to find those students, don’t you?”

She lets out another sob. Draco waits, hoping she’ll calm down.

“It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.”

Draco wants to assure her it isn’t, but he hasn’t heard the details yet.

“Please tell me what happened.”

Slowly, her hands slide down to her side. Her face is blotchy and tear-streaked.

“I was taking a walk,” she says, her voice barely a whisper. “I had to get out of the castle. It—It was—” She presses her lips into a tight line as new tears stream down her face. “It was my cousin’s birthday. She—She died in the Battle of Hogwarts.”

“I’m so sorry,” Draco murmurs, the sound of her whimper cutting through him like an icy knife.

“She was like a sister to me.”

Draco can’t imagine what it must be like, losing someone you’re that close to. His mind unhelpfully hisses at him that he does know. He lost his father, even if he isn’t dead. The man in the Janus Thickey Ward isn’t his father. Not really. But their relationship has always been complicated. If anyone would ask him if he was close to his father, he honestly wouldn’t know how to answer.

“So, you were taking a walk,” Draco says softly, trying not to rush her.

She nods, her bottom lip quivering. “I didn’t watch where I was going. I just walked. And then—then—” She pales and covers her face with her hands once more.

“What? Magnolia, what—”

“Miss Brown?”

Draco’s head snaps up as McGonagall approaches them.

“Miss Brown, are you alright?”

Magnolia doesn’t answer. She just jumps to her feet and runs off.

“Miss Brown!”

Brown. Draco frowns. He knows this is going to sound terribly ignorant, but he has to know.

“Headmistress, wasn’t there a girl named Brown in our year?”

McGonagall sniffs. “Yes. Miss Lavender Brown.”

“Is, um—Did she—”

“She died in the Battle,” McGonagall says.

Draco nods curtly. A part of him feels bad about not remembering her.

“Headmistress, are the students’ files in your office?”

“They are.”

“Would you mind if I take a look at them?”

McGonagall raises a questioning eyebrow.

“It’s important.”

* * *

 

“And you’re sure she said ‘tree’.”

“Yes, Potter, for the hundredth time, I’m sure.”

“That bloody Forest is full of trees! How are we supposed to know which one she’s talking about! And we don’t even know what happened to her.”

“Yes, Potter, I know,” Draco says through gritted teeth. “The girl was frantic. If I had pushed her any more, she—”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Whatever happened to her, it happened on September 2nd,” Draco says, ignoring Potter’s dismissive tone.

“I didn’t know Lavender’s birthday was September 2nd,” Potter says, his voice tight.

“Were you close to her?”

“Oh, no. She dated Ron for a couple of months in sixth year.”

“Ugh, that’s right.” Draco makes a face. “They were hard to miss. They were all over each other.”

Potter nods. “Greyback killed her,” he says after a moment.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Greyback was also the one who bit Remus.”

“Our teacher? How do you know that?”

“He told me,” Potter says. “He was only a child.”

Draco cocks his head. “Didn’t he go to Hogwarts? He was already a werewolf then?”

“Yeah.” The ghost of a smile plays around Potter’s lips. “His friends became Animagi, so it wouldn’t be so hard for him when he turned. One of them was my dad.”

“Your dad was friends with Lupin?”

“Yeah, and Sirius, and—” Potter’s expression darkens. “Wormtail.”

Draco gapes at him. “ _He_ was—What? But—But he was—”

“I know.” Potter sighs.

Draco doesn’t know what to say. It’s obvious Potter was close to his godfather and the way he talks about Lupin indicates the same. The horrible realisation that Potter lost so many loved ones washes over Draco and fills him with dread.

“Do you miss them?” he asks and immediately wants to slap himself. What an utterly stupid question.

“Who?”

“Um, Lupin. And your godfather.”

Potter looks down at the floor. “I do. It’s just so unfair. Remus had a child right before he died. And Sirius—” Pain flashes over Potter’s features. “I feel like I missed out on really getting to know him. I wish I could have gone and lived with him like he wanted me to in third year.”

“Oh. Would your family have let you?”

Potter laughs without a trace of humour. “They probably would have celebrated for a week after I had gone.”

“What?”

“They didn’t really like me.”

More dread fills Draco as he musters up the courage to ask the next question. “So they really did make you sleep in a cupboard?”

Potter’s eyes find his and Draco’s heart squeezes as he drinks in their emptiness.

“They did. I got my own room right before I came to Hogwarts.”

Eleven years. They made him sleep in a bloody cupboard for eleven years.

Draco frowns when Potter’s lips stretch into a sad smile.

Merlin, this is horrifying. The sudden urge to reach out and pat Potter on the shoulder overpowers him, but before he can, Potter clears his throat.

“Anyway, back to the case.”

Draco quickly lets his hand fall back to his side.

“So, she said she was taking a walk on the grounds?”

“Yes,” Draco says, trying to compose himself. “She probably stumbled upon the culprit, but was able to escape.”

“That still doesn’t explain why she thinks this is her fault. We should talk to her.”

“Trust me, it’s no use. At least not now. She’ll feel ambushed.”

Potter grunts and shoves his hands into the pockets of his robe. Draco knows Potter hates when he’s right.

“Like I said,” Draco smirks, feeling like rubbing it in a little more, “she requires tact.”

“Then _you_ should stick around and see if she wants to talk again.”

“And you?”

“I’m going down to the Forest.”

Draco snorts. “Not a chance, Potter. I’m not letting you go on some suicide mission.”

“That’s not—”

“Oh please, we both know—”

“Malfoy!”

“No.”

“Don’t be—”

“I said no!”

Draco almost yelps when Potter grips him by the collar and drags him into an empty classroom. He shoves Draco against the wall.

“Don’t you dare try to guilt-trip me. I’m doing my fucking job here.”

“And if something happens to you, no harm done, right? Because it’s just you who’s dead and then you won’t have to deal with the consequences.”

“Don’t twist my fucking words!”

“That’s what you said.”

Potter growls and pushes himself harder against him. “You have no idea what it’s like!”

“Wanting to give up? Not being able to fight anymore? Believe me, Potter, I know exactly what that’s like.”

“Ugh!” Potter slams his hand against the wall, right next to Draco’s face; it takes everything in Draco not to flinch.

“Come on, do it. Hit me.”

“What?”

“That’s what you want to do, isn’t it? Hit me!”

“I don’t want to hit you, Malfoy.”

“Liar!”

“Shut up!”

“No!” Draco tries to push Potter away, but he’s trapped. He can’t even reach his wand. Their bodies are squeezed so tightly together, Draco can nearly feel Potter’s heartbeat. He can definitely feel his breath on his face.

Oooh!

Something occurs to him when he studies Potter’s stony expression.

“Huh. Maybe you’re not going to hit me after all,” he says, feeling triumphant.

“Of course not. I just said—”

“You want me.”

Potter’s right arm jerks.

“Yeah, you want me, Potter.”

Something flickers across Potter’s face. Draco has no idea what it means. But he knows he’s right. He mentally congratulates himself while the now familiar feeling of power surges inside of him.

“Come on, touch me,” he breathes. “I know you want to.”

Potter grunts, but he doesn’t move. Draco curls his hands around Potter’s wrists and slowly guides them down his body. He stops at his arse, pressing Potter’s palms against it.

“I bet you’re dying for me to touch you,” Draco whispers into Potter’s ear.

Instead of giving him an answer, Potter lets his head fall down to Draco’s shoulder, pressing his forehead against his neck.

“Just say it, and I’ll do it,” Draco smirks. Having this kind of sway over Potter is better than anything he could have ever imagined. It doesn’t matter that his own heart is beating frantically, that his cock is quickly hardening or that the typical nervousness is creeping back, trying to overpower him. None of it matters. He has Potter eating out of the palm of his hand.

“Malfoy.”

“Yes?”

“I—”

“Come on, just say it. I’ll wank you off, I’ll drop to my knees, whatever you want.”

“Shit!” Potter moves his hips and presses his crotch against Draco’s. Ah, just as Draco suspected. Potter is hard as well. It’s thrilling, actually, that so little has to be done to get Potter this riled up, that the proximity of their bodies is seemingly enough to get Potter to make all those delicious, enticing sounds.

Draco closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the wall as Potter resumes grinding against him. “Hmmm, yes,” he breathes, reaching out to grab Potter’s arse.

“Fuck, Malfoy.”

Draco freezes when he suddenly feels something on his neck, hot and slick. Potter’s mouth. Potter’s tongue. Dear Merlin! He gasps when Potter sucks on his delicate skin and he feels Potter’s fingers sink into his hair. It amplifies the tingling in his belly, which quickly spreads through his body, even down to his toes.

“Potter! Oh! Yes!” Without knowing what he’s doing, he releases Potter’s arse and presses one hand against the small of his back; the other flies up to the back of Potter’s neck. “Yes! Yes!” Draco hisses when Potter sucks his earlobe into his mouth. Merlin, he had no idea this tiny, useless body part could unleash that much pleasure. Then again, he would have never guessed that Potter of all people could cause such a thunderstorm of desire inside of him; these past few days have been full of surprises.

“Oh god, Malfoy,” Potter growls into his ear. Draco has never heard anything more arousing. He tries to move in unison with Potter, but his motions are clumsy, making their hips bump against each other awkwardly. But Draco doesn’t care, and if he had to guess, he’d say Potter doesn’t care much about it either.

“Merlin, Potter!” Desperate for more friction, Draco tries to push his hips forward. “Potter! Yes! Almost! Almost!” Potter’s beard is rough against his skin, but he doesn’t care. “Oh shit! Shit! Yes!”

He feels Potter convulsing moments before he does. The dampness in his trousers spreads as the prickling on his scalp and between his shoulder blades slowly subsides.

Overcome with dizziness, he relaxes his shoulders and tries to catch his breath. He stops breathing completely when Potter slightly pulls back and his nose brushes against Draco’s. He stays there, his eyes locked with Draco’s, as though he’s too mesmerised to move. At least that’s how Draco feels. His right index finger twitches and in the back of his mind, he wonders why whatever he’s touching feels so unfamiliar. Oh. Because it’s Potter’s beard. Draco’s hand is on Potter’s cheek.

Unsure of what to do, Draco stays rigid. Potter is still staring at him. If one of them moved even an inch closer, their lips would be touching. They would be kissing. Merlin, they would be _kissing_. Draco’s lips suddenly ache to be pressed against Potter’s. They ache to feel Potter’s teeth as he nibbles at them. They ache to be parted to let Potter’s tongue slip inside Draco’s mouth. He swallows. Suddenly, every part of him aches for Potter.

Without his permission, his thumb moves and Draco marvels at the texture of Potter’s beard and the smoothness of his skin as his thumb reaches his cheekbone. It’s as though Draco’s insides just turned into that Muggle candy Blaise once bought him at the funfair; fluffy, like clouds, and sweet. Draco could stay like this forever. But, of course, ‘forever’ only belongs in fairytales.

Draco blinks as Potter steps back. Without saying a word, he wrenches open the door and marches outside, leaving Draco leaning against the wall. He tries to stay upright, cursing the sudden emptiness in his chest as the bitter realisation crashes down on him.

It’s not him who has Potter eating out of the palm of his hand. It’s the other way round.


	5. Just a minor detail

“Are you ever going to talk to me again?”

Draco keeps walking and acts like he hasn’t heard Potter. Three days without saying a word. That’s definitely a new record for Draco.

He strides into the hut, shrugs out of his robes and carefully folds them over one of the chairs.

“Malfoy, this is getting ridiculous.”

Yes, ridiculous, that’s exactly how Draco feels.

“How are we supposed to work together if you won’t talk to me?”

Right. Work. Because that’s all that matters.

Draco busies himself with making tea, trying to shove every notion of humiliation and rejection aside. As if it wasn’t bad enough that Potter stormed out of the room as though he had been bitten by an Acromantula, Draco had to suffer through the added humiliation of being giggled at by a bunch of students, only to realise much later that Potter had left love bites all over his neck. Draco healed them on the spot. He didn’t want anything on his body to remind him of Potter.

He marches over to the bed, both hands curled around his mug. He slips his feet beneath the duvet and leans his back against the wall.

“Fuck, Malfoy, what do you want me to do?”

Nothing. Draco wants him to do nothing.

“Do you want me to apologise?”

Draco snorts.

“Ah, at least now I know you’re listening to me.”

Draco suppresses the urge to scowl at him.

“Look, this isn’t easy for me either.” Potter sits down on the edge of the bed. Draco peeks at him without turning his head, to make sure he isn’t showing too much interest. “I know I’ve been acting… strange. I just—I—I don’t feel—” Potter lets the unfinished sentence hang between them; it feels like a Dementor just came floating into the hut.

Potter doesn’t feel the way Draco feels. That’s what he’s trying to say, right? Not that Draco really knows how he feels. This is utterly baffling. And he doesn’t even want to think about the possibility that Potter might suspect in which direction Draco’s feelings may be headed. He’s doing a fairly good job at hiding them, isn’t he? It’s not even like he wants to have these feelings. They’re absolutely unwelcome. He’ll just have to get rid of them.

“Are you expecting mail?” Potter asks.

Draco’s eyes dart to the window, right beside the bed, where a screech owl is tapping its beak against the glass. He crawls forward, opens the window and unties the letter from the owl’s foot with nimble fingers. His eyes scan the words, relief washing over him. Nick finally has time for the firecall Draco suggested.

He jumps off the bed and grabs his cloak.

“Hey, where are you going?”

Without a backwards glance, Draco hurries out the door and up to the castle. He has about an hour before the teachers seal the entrance.

* * *

 

“So, this is what a headmaster’s office looks like.”

“Headmistress, actually,” Draco rectifies.

“Ah. I was never called into any headmaster’s or headmistress’ office,” Nick grins. “I was a good boy.”

Draco bursts out laughing. “I wasn’t, and yet I was never called in here either.”

“I wonder if I would have been a Slytherin, too.”

“Not to rain on your parade, but you’re Muggle-born.”

“And?”

Draco shifts in his seat. “Nevermind. I guess it would have been fun if we had gone to school together. Why in Merlin’s name would anyone voluntarily choose to go to Ilvermorny?”  Draco makes a face.

“Hey, I didn’t choose anything,” Nick says. “My parents were the ones who decided to move to America right before I was supposed to start school.”

“Well, I guess they can’t be blamed,” Draco shrugs. “They’re Muggles. They didn’t know they were trading in an excellent education for a barely tolerable one.”

Nick sniggers. “I think I turned out alright.” Draco smiles at him. He can’t argue with that. “So, what’s going on with the case? Robards is driving us nuts.”

“Honestly, it feels like every lead we find turns out to be a cul-de-sac,” Draco sighs.

“You mentioned something about trees in your letter.”

“Just one tree. We have no idea which one or how it ties into this whole mess.”

“Well, I did a little bit of research.”

“And?” Draco leans forward.

“Don’t get too excited. Trees are a pretty extensive topic to research. But it was actually quite fascinating. Did you know that wizards used to believe trees are sacred?”

“Really?”

“Yes, oak trees for example, and elder trees.”

Draco never heard of that before.

“And in some Muggle cultures, certain types of trees are considered a symbol of grief. They’re even associated with the goddesses of death. And don’t even get me started on tree spirits.”

Draco exhales, not knowing what to do with these random pieces of information. “I guess I’ll have to talk to Potter about this.” He wrinkles his nose. “He was brought up by Muggles. Maybe he knows something.”

“Good luck with that,” Nick snorts.

“What?”

“Potter is good in a duel, but intellectually…” Nick smirks.

“Hey,” Draco snaps, pointing a finger at Nick’s face. “I’m the only one who’s allowed to call him stupid.”

Nick raises a questioning eyebrow at him. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yes.”

Nick gives him a sceptical look before he takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “Well, then, better get back to him and solve this case.”

Draco nods, trying to hide how awkward he feels.

“See you soon.”

“Thanks for your help, Nick.”

“Anytime.”

Draco makes it out of the castle just in time. He slows his steps as he approaches the hut, knowing he can’t avoid it, but really not looking forward to having to talk to Potter. His eyes dart around the room until he spots Potter sitting on the bed in a similar position as Draco had been before he left.

Potter doesn’t look up as Draco closes the door.

“Where were you?”

Instinctively, Draco clamps his mouth shut.

“You’re still not talking to me?” Potter finally looks up and Draco startles at how miserable he looks. Maybe this is not the best time to talk about the case. It can wait until tomorrow. Draco isn’t in the mood to talk to Potter anyway.

He casts a quick cleansing charm on his robes before he transfigures them into his usual pyjamas. He strides over to the bed, keeping his gaze away from Potter. He lies down so close to the edge of the mattress that one wrong move will send him tumbling down onto the floor.

“Malfoy,” Potter says, his tone exasperated. Draco doesn’t care. “Malfoy.” Draco grits his teeth. “Malfoy!” Potter can say his name as much as he wants, Draco won’t— “What the bloody hell is your problem?” he hears Potter bellow behind him. Draco stays silent. “What did I do to deserve this—”

Draco can’t suppress the humourless laughter rumbling through his chest.

“What? What’s so funny?”

Nothing about this is funny.

“Malfoy!”

Fuck Potter.

“For Merlin’s sake, DRACO!”

Draco flinches at the unfamiliar sound of his first name. There’s a brief moment of silence and Draco wonders if Potter noticed his reaction.

“Draco.”

Shit. He must have.

“Draco!”

He flinches again.

“Draco! Draco! Draco! Dra—”

“SHUT UP!”

“What the fuck is going on with you?”

“With me?” Draco snaps. He turns around to glower at Potter. “You’re the one who ran away.”

“I—What?”

“Oh, don’t even try to play dumb here. You keep doing that, you—After we—Ugh!” Draco doesn’t know how to say this without sounding like a total twit. “Every time we—You don’t  even acknowledge my presence. And the one time you did, you looked at me like I was the Grim.” The painful memory fills his mind again and it feels like someone is stabbing him in the chest. “Did you even want to do it? Were you just so swept up in the moment that you couldn’t help yourself? Just a few quick one-offs? Did you have to force yourself to touch me? Were you disgusted that it was me?”

“Draco.” Potter lets out an exasperated sigh and Draco wants to strangle him for saying his name with so much ease. “Stop being overly dramatic. Did it seem like I was unwilling?”

“I know your body is willing, but are _you_?”

“What does that even mean?”

“Your body can be turned on by mine, even if you’d rather it didn’t.”

Potter looks thoughtful for a moment. “It’s not like that.”

Draco doesn’t know if he believes him. No. He definitely doesn’t believe him.

“I didn’t plan for this to happen,” Potter says. “It just did. And maybe I do find comfort in it. Is that so wrong?”

“It depends. If anyone with the right body parts will do, then yes, it’s wrong.”

“Why?”

“ _W_ _hy_?”

“Are you getting sentimental on me, Draco?”

“Don’t you get it? It’s disgusting!”

“What?”

“You’re obviously trying to fill some kind of void. And don’t deny that you’re using me to do it.”

Potter looks as though a Dementor is giving him the Kiss at this very moment.

“Whatever issues you’ve got going on, they aren’t going to vanish because we wank each other off. It’s not healthy and I’m not going to be a part of this.”

“What is it exactly that’s so offending to you? The assumption that I’m using you or the fact that you’re enjoying yourself more than you’d like to admit? Hmm?”

“I see what you’re trying to do, Potter, and it’s not working. We’re not 15 anymore.”

“Oh, so you haven’t been using me?”

“What?”

“Come on, let’s at least be honest here. We’ve been using each other.”

Draco wants to shout at Potter that it’s not true, but that would only put him in a more precarious situation, wouldn’t it? Because then he’d have to explain why he thinks he hasn’t been using Potter. Merlin, he can’t win.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Potter mutters, crossing his arms. That conceited arsehole. “And by the way, I wanted you as much as you wanted me.”

“Pfft, don’t make me laugh, Potter.”

“‘I can drop to my knees, I can do whatever you want’,” Potter says in a high-pitched voice.

Draco grits his teeth, his own words out of Potter’s mouth punching him right in the gut.

“We both knew what we were doing.”

Wrong. Again. Draco thought he knew what he was doing. He can’t let Potter know how much this is hurting him. He’ll play along. He’ll make Potter think he’s been right this whole time.

“Having you practically beg to suck my cock _is_ pretty convenient,” Draco says, keeping his tone deliberately snooty.

Potter snorts. “See, we’re both getting something out of it.”

Draco feels the strong urge to hex him. “What if I ever feel like using you again?” he bluffs.

“Then use me,” Potter says, his eyes boring into Draco’s. “Use me right now.”

Draco freezes. Oh no. That’s not… what he expected. His eyes widen when Potter sits up, grabs the hem of his jumper and pulls it over his head. It causes his hair to look like a bird’s nest. Draco watches in apprehension as Potter leans forward and puts his hand right next to Draco’s left thigh.

“Use me,” he breathes into his face. Draco stares at him, trying to make sense of all the emotions rushing through him. “Use me,” Potter repeats, tilting his head, as though to invite Draco to kiss his neck. Draco gulps. Can he do this? Can he do this without giving himself away? He blinks when Potter pulls back. Within seconds, Potter gets rid of his trousers. And his pants. Merlin. He’s completely naked. He lies back, grabs Draco’s wrist and pulls him down with him. Draco tries to stay balanced; he’s on all fours with Potter lying underneath him. Merlin.

“So,” Potter says, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Aren’t you going to do anything?”

Why is Potter always so insufferable? Gripped by a surge of spitefulness, Draco sits up and starts unbuttoning his pyjamas. The moment they fall onto the mattress, he feels himself go rigid. The Dark Mark may have faded, but it’s still clearly visible. And Potter is staring at it.

Draco suppresses the urge to hide his arm behind his back. Potter’s eyes find his and Draco has trouble reading his expression.

“Keep going,” Potter murmurs.

Not feeling like exposing himself completely, Draco decides to stay in his bottoms for now. He leans down and plants both hands on either side of Potter’s face. He angles his head and bends down to kiss Potter’s neck. He instantly starts squirming beneath Draco, his breath coming out in hisses. Draco opens his mouth, letting his tongue dart out to taste Potter’s skin. He doesn’t really taste like anything, but he smells heavenly. It makes Draco feel dizzy with want.

He moves lower, peppering Potter’s chest with kisses while he keeps his hands firmly planted on the mattress. When he reaches Potter’s belly button, he quickly dips his tongue into it and—even though he has no idea why he’s doing it—lets his teeth sink into the soft flesh above Potter’s left pelvic bone. Potter howls. And then he laughs. Draco lifts his head, marvelling at the sound. It’s astonishing, how different it makes him look. So carefree and—

Draco quickly bows his head when he catches Potter’s eye.

He crawls backwards and resumes kissing and licking Potter’s skin. His heart jumps when he feels fine hair tickling his cheek and Potter’s scent—a different, more musky scent—fills his nostrils. Acting on impulse, he bites the inside of Potter’s thigh, feeling pleased with himself when he hears him laugh yet again. It quickly turns into a moan when Draco moves lower and starts sucking on Potter’s balls.

“Fuck! Draco!”

Draco replaces his mouth with his hand, squeezing Potter’s balls while his lips move to his cock. It’s much easier now to adjust his lips and his tongue around Potter’s cock; it was such a disaster the first time. Well, Potter was panting and screaming then, too, but Draco feels much more confident about his movements now. He starts bobbing his head and keeps caressing Potter’s balls. His hand slips, however, when Potter jerks. Draco stills.

“Oh!” Potter jerks again.

His—His middle finger is almost touching—

“Please.” Potter bends his knees a little more, giving Draco better access. Oh. He did say he liked Draco’s cock rubbing against it. So… should Draco…?

Potter lifts his legs and wraps them around Draco. It feels like he crossed them at the ankles on Draco’s back. Fuck. Draco has no idea why that would turn him on, but it does.

He resumes bobbing his head while his finger slowly feels around until it touches puckered skin. Potter lets out a yelp. Encouraged by this, Draco starts massaging that spot, moving his fingers in circular motions. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say it is driving Potter insane.

“Oh god, Draco!”

Draco tries not to smirk and applies more pressure; he can feel Potter’s rim fluttering against his finger. Merlin.

“Hold on,” Potter wheezes. Draco releases his cock and watches him curiously as Potter fumbles around the bed table for his wand.

“Give me your finger,” he says. Draco does. Potter touches the tip of his wand to it and Draco blinks when he feels something cold and slick on it.

“Did you just lubricate my finger?”

“Yes,” Potter says, his eyes filled with something that makes Draco shudder.

Careful not to let it drip onto the mattress, Draco moves his hand down to Potter’s arse again and dips his finger into his cleft. Oh, it’s so much easier to move it now, to draw circles around Potter’s rim and let his finger slide over it. He feels the heels of Potter’s feet digging into his back; it prompts him to press harder.

“Yes! Oh, yes!”

That sounds promising. He picks up the pace, his cock stirring whenever he feels that puckered skin quirk.

“Oh god, please, stick it in.”

Heat rushes to Draco’s cheeks. Stick it in? He tries to cover his embarrassment, forcing his hand to keep moving. Biting the inside of his cheek, he presses his fingertip harder against Potter’s entrance. He can’t help but gasp when he feels his finger slip inside.

“Fuck! Yes! Move it. Keep moving.”

Draco does. His cock is hardening rapidly as he watches Potter writhe and moan, his rim clenching around Draco’s finger.

“God, I need more,” Potter breathes. Draco tries to stick his finger in deeper. Potter lifts his head, his chest heaving. “How’s your cock?”

“Um…” Draco bites his lip.

“Good. Pull it out,” Potter says and withdraws his legs from Draco’s back.

Draco’s heart stops. He keeps his finger inside of Potter, moving awkwardly as he pushes down his pyjama bottoms and his pants one-handed. Merlin, his cock is embarrassingly hard. Potter hasn’t even touched him.

“Give me your hand.”

He feels like he’s fallen into a trance, not really realising he’s already stretched it out, until he feels the freshly conjured lube in his palm. Instinctively, his hand moves to his own cock. He groans as he starts moving both of his hands, one on his cock, the other on Potter’s arse.

“Ah!” Potter grabs the sheets. “Oh god, Draco, please.”

“What?” Draco hears himself whisper.

“I want your cock.”

Draco’s hands still.

“I want your cock inside me, Draco.”

Suddenly, it’s very hard to breathe. It’s hard to stay upright.

“You said you wanted to fuck me,” he smirks.

Draco’s cock twitches at Potter’s words. Yes, he wants to. Merlin, he wants to so badly.

“Come on.” Potter nudges him with his knee.

Slowly, Draco removes his finger from Potter’s arse. He places his now free hand on the mattress and tries to calm himself.

“Everything alright?”

“Of course, Potter,” he snaps. “It’s not like—” But it’s exactly like that.

Potter squirms beneath him. “It’s, um, it’s been a while since I’ve let anyone do this to me.”

  
It’s on the tip of Draco’s tongue that he hasn’t done any of this before, but he clamps his mouth shut and tries to hide his embarrassment. He slides forward on his knees, until his thighs are touching Potter’s. Heart beating frantically, he bends down his cock. A rush of desire shoots through him when the tip of his cock makes contact with Potter’s warm skin.

“Oh god, do it, do it!”

Feeling utterly unprepared for what’s about to come, Draco pushes his hips forward, his mouth falling open as he feels his tip slowly slipping inside.

“Aaah!” Potter is moving as well, and Draco has to squeeze his eyes shut as his cock is enveloped by heat and the delicious press of Potter’s rim.

“Dear Merlin!” He plants his palms on the mattress while the rest of his body moves of its own accord. He feels Potter’s legs around him once more and groans when Potter presses his calves against his back, prompting him to push in deeper.

“Oh god, yes! Yes!” Potter arches his back and Draco can feel the heat radiating off his body. “Move. Oh god, please move.”

“Oh fuck!” Draco’s toes curl as wave after wave of pleasure washes over him.

“Harder! Go harder!”

He feels beads of sweat forming on his forehead and his arms quiver, threatening to give way.

“Nnngh! Fuck! Yes! Yes! Draco, yes!”

Draco doesn’t know how much longer he can keep this up. Every thrust into Potter vaults him closer to the edge. But he can’t come just yet, after a mere few minutes. He’ll never hear the end of it if he does. He has to think of something. Fast. Merlin, he’s almost—

“Get up,” he tells Potter in his most imperious tone.

“What?”

“Get up.”

“Why?” Potter groans when Draco pulls back and his cock springs free.

“We said we’re using each other, right?” he bluffs. Potter stares at him. Draco makes an impatient gesture and grunts when Potter finally sits up. He nudges him aside and leans down, until he’s on all fours. He looks over his shoulder. Potter is still staring at him. “Now you fuck me,” he says, hoping Potter doesn’t catch the trembling in his voice. He doesn’t seem to. He only hesitates for another moment.

“Fuck yes,” he hisses and moves to kneel behind Draco.

Draco tries to ready himself for the pain he’s undoubtedly about to feel. His fingers dig into the mattress, his shoulders tight with tension. He presses his lips into a tight line when he feels Potter’s fingers on his arse, parting his cheeks. He tries hard to fight down the embarrassment that bubbles up inside his chest at the thought that Potter is looking at him _there_.

“Oh!” He almost collapses when he feels, not Potter’s cock, but his tongue pressing against him. More embarrassment rushes through him. Potter can’t—It’s his tongue! _There_.

“Nnngh!” Draco grits his teeth, biting back a moan. The flat of Potter’s tongue slides over his rim and Draco doesn’t know why it makes his insides tingle. It’s disgusting. Potter licking him there is disgusting! But Merlin, Draco doesn’t want him to stop. He had no idea his skin was so sensitive there. Potter’s tongue is hot and wet against him and Draco can’t help but push back his hips. Potter groans as he applies more pressure, making Draco’s rim flutter helplessly.

“Oh fuck,” Potter mutters and Draco feels him shift. His shoulders tense again.

So this is it. They’re really going to do this. Shit. Anticipation courses through him, mingled with wariness. He gasps. He feels the tip of Potter’s cock against his entrance. Merlin, this is really happening. His mouth drops open in a silent whimper as Potter pushes his cock harder against him. Merlin! Draco feels himself being stretched open, the pain zinging through him, followed by a rush of pleasure.

“Fuck, Draco!”

Draco tries to relax, to grant Potter entrance. He feels more pressure, more pain. He lets his head dangle upside down and squeezes his eyes shut. It burns.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Potter moans. He starts moving, slamming into Draco hard.

“Ah!” Draco gasps as more pain shoots through him.

“Oh god! You’re so fucking tight.”

Draco chokes, his hands fumbling for something he can hold onto. Potter moves even faster, his grip on Draco’s hips bruising.

“Oh fuck! Fuck!”

Draco’s arms finally give way and his face is suddenly squashed against the pillow. His hands instinctively fly up to grab the sides of it. It’s still burning, but there’s definitely some tingling, too. And it’s spreading.

“Yes! Oh god, y—Oh my god, what is that?”

Draco yelps as Potter suddenly pulls back and jumps off the bed. He looks around, disoriented, until he finds the source of the shrill ringing sound. The alarm clock. Someone set it off.

“Shit!”

Draco looks at Potter in bewilderment.

“We need to go,” Potter says.

They both grab their clothes as fast as they can. Draco tries to keep up with Potter, who’s sprinting up to the castle, and wills himself to swallow the pain he feels at every damn step. Fortunately, Potter seems too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice. They’re both gasping for air when they arrive at the entrance. McGonagall is there. She’s as pale as a sheet.

“Gentlemen,” she says. “This has officially turned into a murder investigation.”

* * *

 

Draco peeks at the Grey Lady from under his lashes; it’s not that he’s afraid of ghosts or anything, it’s just that this particular ghost looks a bit intimidating, even in the warm surroundings of the Great Hall.

“And then he just vanished?” Potter asks.

“Yes.”

“As in… he dematerialised.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re absolutely sure?”

“I saw it with my own eyes,” the Grey Lady says. She sounds irritated.

“What were you even doing out there? Wasn’t the castle sealed off?”

“Actually, that spell doesn’t work on ghosts. I suggested another one, but—” Slughorn breaks off when McGonagall shoots him a stern look. “Sorry,” he mutters.

“He was following me,” the Grey Lady says. “I was trying to escape.” She gives Potter a strange look. “ _Y_ _ou_ know why I wouldn’t want another moment in the presence of the Baron.”

Potter slowly nods and rubs a finger against his temple. “Well, I guess he got his comeuppance.”

“Technically, he was already dead,” Draco points out. He never really talked to the Bloody Baron, even though he was the ghost of Slytherin House. He wasn’t exactly the sociable type.

“This is getting more appalling by the second,” Sprout says.

“I don’t think we can keep the school open any longer,” McGonagall says. “We need to send the children home in the morning.”

The other teachers nod.

“We should go to the Owlery, send Robards an update,” Draco says turning to Potter. He nods and produces a piece of parchment, a quill and a bottle of ink out of the tiny bag he carries around with him. He scribbles down a quick note and stows everything away in his robe pocket.

“Do you believe her?” Draco asks as they ascend the stairs, trying to ignore how sore he feels. “The Grey Lady, I mean.”

Potter shrugs. “I don’t think she has any reason to lie to us. She and the Bloody Baron do have history, but ghosts can’t kill each other, right?”

“No.”

“Then I guess we believe her.”

“What happened?”

“What?”

“You said they have history. What happened?”

Potter presses his lips together, to which Draco rolls his eyes.

“I’m not going to run to her and tell on you.”

The corner of Potter’s mouth twitches. “Alright,” he sighs. “The Bloody Baron killed her.”

“He—What?”

“Yeah, it’s a long story. Basically, he fell in love with her, she refused him, so he stabbed her. Then he stabbed himself.”

Draco frowns. “Merlin, that’s messed up.”

“I know.”

They enter the Owlery and are greeted by a chorus of excited hoots.

“Ugh, Robards isn’t going to be happy about this,” Potter says, making a beeline for one of the barn owls.

“Is he ever happy about anything?” Draco mutters. “I’m actually surprised he hasn’t sent us a Howler yet.”

Potter snorts. “He probably would if he knew what we’ve been doing.”

“What have we been doing?” Draco asks innocently.

Potter gives him a meaningful look. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“Oh?”

“Releasing some tension.”

“Ah.” Draco mentally curses.

“But that’s all it is,” Potter shrugs. “I always find my mind is so much clearer afterwards.”

Draco bites his tongue. He shouldn’t say anything to that. He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. “So you do this on all your missions?”

“What?”

“Is that why you went through so many partners? Had to do a little bit of ‘mind clearing’?”

Potter looks taken aback for a moment, but then he raises an eyebrow, his expression irritated. “Just what exactly are you insinuating?”

“I was right, wasn’t I? Anybody with the right body parts will do.” Draco’s face twists in disgust. “I can’t believe I let you defile me.”

Several owls shriek when a forceful gust of wind blows through the Owlery.

“What did you just say?” Potter’s voice is low and barely above a whisper.

Draco presses his lips together, berating himself for his foolishness.

“You’re not saying what I think you’re saying, right?” Potter seems calm. Too calm. It’s more menacing than if he were screaming at him. “Draco.” His eyes pierce Draco, rooting him to the spot.

He swallows. It’s his own fault, once again, for blurting out something that he should have taken to his grave.

“There’s nothing more you can take from me,” Draco says, raising his chin in defiance. “You’ve taken everything. My pride, my dignity,” he pauses, his heart hammering violently against his chest, “even my bloody virginity.”

Chaos erupts as all the perches around them crash to the floor. The owls hoot and shriek, and Draco has to duck to avoid getting clawed in the face. Through the turmoil of flapping wings, he sees Potter approach him with a murderous look on his face.

“YOU FUCKING PRICK!”

“You’re mad at _me_?” Draco shouts incredulously.

“You bet your arse I am.”

“Just because I didn’t tell you I—”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Potter bellows. “ _Just_ because you didn’t tell me?”

“Merlin, Potter, it’s just a minor detail.”

“Is it? IS IT?”

“It’s not a big deal to me,” Draco lies. He would rather die than admit the truth. How can he when Potter is just ‘releasing tension’ with him? “You’re blowing this out of proportion.”

“Oh, congratulations on not caring, then. Good for you. But did you ever stop to think that there might be the slightest possibility that this might be a big deal for me?”

“Why would it be?”

“Because,” Potter yells, throwing his hands in the air. “I didn’t know what I was agreeing to! And I wouldn’t have—” He pauses, his face suddenly unreadable. “Did I hurt you?”

Draco snorts.

“Draco, did I hurt you?”

“So what if it hurt a little,” Draco snaps.

“Oh my god.” Potter covers half of his face with his hand.  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. How could you not tell me?”

Draco raises an eyebrow.

“You kept vital information from me, Draco. I thought I knew what I was agreeing to, but I didn’t.”

“How does this change anything?”

“How can it not?”

“Oh. I see. You’d rather have some faceless, brainless twat you can fuck as you please without having to think about anything else. That’s what you’d like me to be, right?”

“That’s not—Draco!”

“You know what, no. I don’t give a damn.” He turns on his heels and storms out of the Owlery, feeling like his heart has just been ripped out and trampled on by a horde of Erumpents.

Merlin, the look on Potter’s face. And what, would he have refused Draco if he had told him he was a virgin? Honestly, what is Potter even so angry about? This isn’t about _his_ virginity. Draco pauses. For a moment, he tries to imagine what it would be like if the roles were reversed. Would he be angry if Potter was a virgin and hadn’t told him? Well… maybe. But it’s different for him. Potter wouldn’t be disgracing his family, he wouldn’t go against his upbringing, renouncing everything his family and their name stands for. But Draco did. It’s exactly what he did and it’s hard not to feel guilty about it. He doesn’t want to. Having sex with Potter has nothing to do with his family. It has to do with Potter and him. Or, from Potter’s point of view, with Potter and anybody who’s interested.

Draco’s insides boil at the thought that he’s nothing more to Potter than some interchangeable bimbo. Honestly, he should have been the one to destroy the Owlery. Draco’s virginity doesn’t concern Potter. It only concerns Draco. It was his decision what to do with it.

He bites the inside of his cheek as something Potter said echoes in his mind.

_I thought I knew what I was agreeing to, but I didn’t._

That’s what he had wanted to shout at Dumbledore and Snape after learning what had really been going on in sixth year. They tricked him. They didn’t tell him that Dumbledore was already dying.

_Draco, Draco, you’re not a killer._

That’s what Dumbledore had said.

Draco lets out a shuddering breath. As much he hates to admit it, they did it to protect him. And that, Draco slowly realises, is the difference. Because he didn’t tell Potter he was a virgin to protect him; he was protecting himself. He was being selfish. But what was he supposed to do? He couldn’t tell Potter. He would have felt too exposed.

That night, Draco lies awake in the hut, blinking away stubborn tears, wondering if he made a mistake after all.

* * *

 

The castle seems completely empty when Draco passes through the Entrance Hall the next morning. The teachers must have sent the students to the Hogwarts Express already. Did Potter help them? He didn’t come to the hut last night. A part of Draco didn’t expect him to. The other part was devastated.

He decides to look for him in the room by the kitchens, but he stops dead when he sees flaming red hair vanish behind a corner.

Potter wouldn’t. He wouldn’t dare. Ugh, of course he would. The nerve. So he called Weasley over to solve the case without Draco? Really? Well, Potter’s in for a ride, then. The fool should know Draco won’t be pushed aside that easily.

He darts over to the corner Weasley vanished around, cursing under his breath when he finds the corridor completely empty. He pauses when he hears voices coming out of one of the classrooms. One of the doors is ajar. He tiptoes over and peeks inside. Potter is pacing the length of the room, ruffling his hair.

“Mate, what’s going on?”

“Harry, will you please sit down? You’re making me nervous.”

Draco frowns. Why is Granger here? Draco slowly leans forward to get a better view; Granger is leaning against the wall while Weasley is sitting at one of the desks in the front. Pfft, Potter really can’t do anything without his precious friends.

“I don’t want to sit,” Potter says curtly. “I—I—Ugh!”

“Mate, seriously, what happened?”

“Does it have to do with your case?” Granger asks.

“No. Not really.” Potter’s eyes are fixed on the floor, his brows deeply furrowed.

It’s got nothing to do with the case? Why are Weasley and Granger here then? What did Potter call them over for? Oh. OH! No. He wouldn’t.

“It’s about Malfoy, isn’t it?” Weasley groans. “What did the git do now?”

Potter doesn’t answer, but he finally stops pacing and stares out the window instead. Draco’s pulse quickens inevitably; does he really want to hear what Potter is about to say?

“Harry, if you called us over here to ask if Ron can come back earlier—”

“It’s not that,” Potter interrupts her. “Although it would make things a lot easier.”

“Err… I don’t know if this is the right time to tell you,” Weasley begins awkwardly, “but… I might not be coming back at all.”

“What?” Potter whips around, his face ashen.

“Yeah, um… the thing is… I like taking care of Rosie. I like being a stay-at-home dad.” He looks sheepishly at Potter. “Sorry, mate.”

“You don’t have to apologise,” Potter says, closing his eyes. There’s a fairly long pause in which the tension seems to be rising. “I’m happy if you’re happy,” he finally adds. “But I can’t deny I’m a little disappointed I won’t be working with my best mate anymore.”

“I know,” Weasley mumbles. “Just… do me a favour and don’t become friends with Malfoy, okay? Then I might have to reconsider—”

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem anymore,” Potter says darkly.

Draco presses his lips into a tight line, trying to keep himself from making any noise while his insides turn to ice.

“What do you mean ‘anymore’?” Weasley asks, narrowing his eyes.

“For goodness sake, Harry, will you please tell us what happened?” Granger urges.

Potter lets out a sigh and turns back to the window. His shoulders seem tense as he presses one of his palms against the glass. “I slept with him,” he says quietly.

“You WHAT?” Weasley chokes.

Granger’s mouth falls open and from the looks of it, her eyeballs are about to fall out of their sockets. “How—How—”

“Blimey, Harry,” Weasley croaks. “Why? Why did you do that? Why?”

“Believe me, I’ve been asking myself that very same question.”

Draco balls his hands into fists.

“Merlin’s saggy—”

“Language, Ronald.”

“Rose isn’t even here right now.”

Potter clears his throat and they both give him an apologetic glance.

“Anyway,” Potter continues, “that’s not the real problem.”

“How is that not—” Weasley breaks off when Granger throws him an admonishing look.

“Go on, Harry,” she says.

Potter leans his forehead against the window and even though Draco can’t see his face, he can hear the dread in his voice. “He—He… um… He isn’t as experienced as I am.”

Weasley’s features twist in disgust. “If you called us over here to discuss how awful Malfoy is in bed, then—”

“I don’t think that’s what he’s saying, Ron,” Granger says, her eyes fixed on Potter.

He finally turns around to them, his expression serious. “He’s—He _was_ a virgin.”

Draco wants to storm inside and punch Potter in the face.

“It’s not that surprising,” Granger says slowly. “He’s a pure-blood after all.”

“Well, he didn’t tell me,” Potter glowers. “He didn’t tell me until after we—” He breaks off, lowering his head.

“Oh,” Granger breathes. “Oh no.”

“Are you serious?” Weasley sounds incredulous.

“Did—” Granger hesitates, biting her lip. “Did he maybe give you some hints that you—”

“What, that I didn’t pick up on?” Potter snaps.

“I’m sorry, Harry, but you have to admit, you’re usually not very good at these kind of things, unless it’s explicitly spelled out for you.”

Potter’s shoulders slump and his forehead is touching the window again. “He didn’t give me any hints, Hermione. The things we did… Everything was a bit awkward and messy, but I thought he was just nervous. I was.”

“Yeah, I’d be nervous, too, if I had to—”

“Not the time, Ron,” Granger chastises. “Harry, how did this even happen?”

Potter takes a deep breath, but doesn’t turn around. “One thing led to another I guess,” he murmurs. “I thought we were kind of bonding. I don’t know. It’s been a long time and he’s… sort of attractive.”

Sort of? _Sort of?_ And what does he mean by bonding?

“And now he’s blaming you? For taking his virginity?” Weasley asks.

“Yes. No. I don’t know,” Potter says, shaking his head. “He told me he was a virgin while we were fighting. I don’t think he would have otherwise. He said it was no big deal, but I don’t believe him.”

“Yeah, he’s clearly lying,” Weasley grunts and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “The Malfoys would probably kill themselves if they knew you defiled their precious little heir.”

Potter turns to him with a sour expression. “Don’t say ‘defiled’.” He hesitates, his mouth hanging open as though he’s going to say something else. Draco stops breathing. Is he going to tell them about Draco’s father?

“But that’s exactly what he is in their opinion, isn’t he?” Weasley counters. “Just because Voldemort isn’t here anymore to foment those bigoted pure-bloods, doesn’t mean they don’t still believe in that rubbish. It’s how Malfoy was raised. He probably believes it himself.”

Draco looks sideways and bites his lip. Hard. Does he still believe it? To a certain extent. But the alternative would have been marrying a pure-blood witch. And… Draco said those things to hurt Potter, not because he had meant it. Not all of it.

“That still doesn’t explain or justify why he didn’t tell me beforehand.”

“Harry,” Granger says. Draco can tell she’s trying to sound soothing. “I’m definitely not saying this is your fault.” She raises her hands in a defensive gesture when Potter narrows his eyes at her. “I’m not. But the thing is… Harry, he _is_ a pure-blood. You should have at least suspected—”

“Ron’s a pure-blood,” Potter interrupts her.

“You’re not seriously comparing me to Malfoy, are you?” Weasley looks deeply offended.

“You know that’s different, Harry. You know it.” Granger looks at him sympathetically.

“Well, I didn’t suspect. And my point still stands. He should have told me. I had a right to know.”

“You did,” Granger agrees.

“So you don’t think I’m blowing this out of proportion?”

“Oh Harry, is that what he said?” Granger’s eyes widen. “It sounds a bit defensive if you ask me.”

Draco grits his teeth. Damn Granger.

Potter rubs two fingers against his temple and looks down at the floor. “He should have told me. I—” His voice breaks. “I hurt him. Physically. He admitted it. I was fucking him and he was probably suffering the whole time.”

There’s a stunned silence as Potter crouches down and hides his face behind his hands. Draco stares at him, guilt crashing down on him. He had no idea Potter would react like this, worry about hurting him. Maybe he should have told Potter after all.

“It makes me sick, thinking about it,” he hears Potter mutter.

“Oh, Harry.” Granger bends down and wraps an arm around his shoulders. Potter lets his hands slip from his face.

“I’m sorry, mate,” Weasley says quietly.

“I really had no idea, Hermione,” Potter says. “I wouldn’t have—If I had known—”

“Shh, Harry, I know,” she says, patting his shoulder.

“I kept saying I didn’t trust him,” Potter says. His voice almost sounds like a whimper. “I kept throwing it in his face and he—he probably—”

Granger’s hand on his shoulder stills and she shifts to study his face. “Harry, are you—are you falling for him?”

Draco holds his breath, his heart nearly jumping out of his chest.

Potter looks at her, his brows deeply furrowed. “I—I—”

“Merlin’s beard,  you are, aren’t you?” Weasley breathes, his eyes impossibly wide. “Blimey, Harry, have you been sleeping with him this whole time I’ve been gone?”

“What? I—”

“Merlin, I should have known I can’t leave you alone!”

“Ron, I haven’t—”

“Oh! Of course! That’s why he talked to me.”

Bugger! Draco should have known it would come back and bite him in the arse.

“He talked to you?” Granger asks.

“Yeah, asked me a bunch of questions about Harry.”

“He did?” Potter looks surprised.

Weasley nods. “He thought you were acting weird.”

“You told me he asked you something about garden gnomes,” Potter says.

Draco rolls his eyes. Potter can be so gullible sometimes.

“He told me not to say anything,” Weasley shrugs.

Well, Draco has to give it to him; he did keep it a secret. Until now.

“So he was worried about Harry?” Granger asks.

“I thought he was just being nosy. I didn’t know Harry was dating him.”

“We weren’t dating,” Potter says quickly. “We’re not dating now.”

It’s true, and yet Potter’s tone hits Draco like a slap in the face.

Granger gives him a speculative glance. “But you like him?”

“I—I don’t—” Potter slowly shakes his head. Draco can see the panic on his face. “I can’t—No. I don’t—I—”

Draco chokes and he feels his entire body convulsing. Not wanting to hear another word, he turns and starts running. He has to get away from Potter. As far as possible. Out of the castle. He keeps running. He doesn’t care where he ends up. His vision is blurry. His throat feels too tight. He keeps running. The cold air is stinging. It hurts to breathe. He knew Potter didn’t feel the same. He knew. He was a fool. He keeps running. Everything is dark around him. He doesn’t care. It hurts. He should have known. He keeps running. How could he have been so stupid? Potter, of all people. Draco sealed his own fate. He keeps running. He trips.

For a moment, Draco considers just staying on the ground. His entire body aches. He can still feel Potter inside of him. He chokes.

Catching his breath, he tries to pick himself off the ground. He pauses. Something is digging into his palm. He fumbles for it with his fingers.

“Lumos.”

It’s a stone. It has a strange symbol on it. Draco can’t recall having seen it before. Damn it, Draco shouldn’t have touched it. What if it’s a dark artefact?

“Specialis revelio,” he murmurs. Nothing happens. Intrigued, Draco puts it in his pocket. He’ll examine it more carefully later.

He finally scrambles off the ground and taps the dirt off his robes. What now? He can’t go back to the castle. He can’t bear to look at Potter. But he can’t walk away from the case either. They have to find those children. Draco will have to solve it on his own. He’ll solve it and then he’ll go to Robards and request a new partner.

Cursing under his breath, Draco starts walking back in the direction he came from. He was so out of his mind, he didn’t even realise he was running straight into the Forest. It seems like forever until he finally sees something he recognises. The greenhouses.

_“Come to me.”_

Draco stops dead.

_“I need more. Come to me.”_

His head whips around, even though he knows it’s pointless trying to find the source of the voice.

_“Come to me.”_

Draco starts walking. In the back of his mind, he notices once more that the voice sounds familiar. Not only because he’s heard it several times before now. He knows that voice.

_“More. I want more.”_

Yes, Draco is here to give more.

He blinks, some part of his brain registering that he shouldn’t be here, that he should run. He can’t move his feet. Something’s wrapped around his ankles. His mouth opens in a silent scream when he feels something cold and rough on his neck, around his chest, around his waist.

He can’t breathe.

He can’t move.

Everything goes black.


	6. The brightest light will go unseen

The moment Draco tries to move, he lets out a whimper. Everything hurts. He tries to open his eyes, but the light is too harsh. He feels around with his hands. There’s nothing but pleasant softness. Oh, wait, there’s something else. It’s… soft as well. But different. And warm.

Not being able to resist, Draco slowly cracks open one eye. He sees a mass of black against white linen. His pulse quickens. Potter. He opens his eyes some more, trying to ignore the pain that shoots through him. Oh. He’s in the hospital wing. He takes a look around. All the other beds are empty. His gaze wanders back to Potter, who’s sitting in a chair with his head on the edge of Draco’s bed.

With a jolt, Draco realises he’s touching Potter’s hair. He snatches back his hand as though he’s been burnt. Why are they in the hospital wing? What happened? Draco tries to think of the last thing he did. His mind is foggy and uncooperative. He was in the Forest. No, no, he was at the greenhouses. He gulps. And before that, he heard Potter talk to Granger and Weasley. About their fight. About Potter fucking him. The dreadful memory crashes down on him, stifling him.

“Oh thank Merlin, you’re awake.”

Draco freezes. Potter sits up but keeps his elbows on the bed.

“How are you feeling?”

Draco wrinkles his nose. “Not sure about that yet. What happened?”

“You were out on the grounds.” Potter’s expression turns dark. “Without me.”

“Yeah, well.” Draco looks down at his hands, not wanting Potter to see anything he shouldn’t in his eyes.

“It’s the Whomping Willow.”

“What?”

“I’m not sure how it’s doing it, but I’m pretty sure it was feeding on you when I found you.”

“You mean—That’s what we’ve been looking for all this time? The Whomping Willow?”

Potter nods.

“But… how?”

“That’s what I’d like to know.” Potter sighs. “I thought you—” He hesitates and Draco notices the way he’s wringing his hands. “I thought you were dead. You looked dead.”

Draco says nothing.

“What were you doing out there anyway?”

“I was trying to solve the case,” Draco snaps.

“God, you arrogant prick,” Potter mutters. “You accuse me of having a death wish, then you go and almost get yourself killed.”

“It wasn’t intentional!”

“If anyone’s going to kill you, it’s me,” Potter growls. “I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me—” He averts his eyes, his face twisting in pain. And then, he gets out of his seat.

For a moment, Draco thinks he’s going to leave. He doesn’t. He leans down and pulls Draco into a hug.

“I really thought you were dead,” he chokes. Draco stays completely rigid, but he notices that Potter’s arms are trembling. That might just be from the awkward angle though. Potter’s beard is scratchy against his cheek, and yet, the sensation causes warmth to unfurl in his chest.

He stops breathing when Potter pulls back a little and looks at him with terror in his eyes. Was he really that worried? He realises Potter’s thumb is moving against his shoulder blade, as though he’s stroking him. Draco searches Potter’s face, his hands itching to reach up and return his embrace.

“I—I heard what you said to Granger and Weasley,” Draco hears himself say. Potter pales. “I heard everything.”

“Everything?”

Draco pauses. Something about Potter’s expression doesn’t seem right. He looks… almost frightened.

“I—I’m still—I’m sorry, Draco,” he murmurs. His breath is warm against Draco’s face. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I really wish you would have told me.” He curls one of his hands around the back of Draco’s neck.

Draco stares at him, unblinkingly. “I guess, um—I guess I owe you an apology as well. I—I didn’t think you’d care.” That’s only part of the truth, but Draco can’t bring himself to say more.

“The thought of hurting you—” Potter shakes his head. “It’s more than that though.”

“Oh?”

“I guess you almost dying put things into perspective.”

Draco has no idea what to say. He’s not sure if he’s getting ahead of himself, if he’s misinterpreting Potter’s words. But the way he’s looking at Draco… His expression is soft and warm. He’s never looked at Draco like that before.

Potter’s fingers move against his neck, finally snapping him out of his trance. He lifts his right hand and puts it on Potter’s cheek. He stares in astonishment as Potter closes his eyes and leans into the touch. Draco swallows. His lips part when Potter leans forward, watching Draco from under his lashes. Their noses touch and it sends a pleasant tingle down Draco’s spine. Potter presses his hand more firmly against Draco’s neck, pulling him nearer, until the gap between them is almost—

“Thank Merlin! You gave me quite a turn, Mr Malfoy.”

They jump apart, Draco’s heart slamming against his chest. Madam Pomfrey rushes over and studies him, her fingers cool against his face. And yet, Draco feels his cheeks heating up; Potter is holding his hand, even though Madam Pomfrey can see.

“You should stay here for another day, get some rest,” Madam Pomfrey says. She scurries away and Draco finds himself unable to look Potter in the eye. He tries not to feel disappointed when Potter withdraws his hand and clears his throat.

“I talked to Magnolia,” he says. “She finally told me everything.”

Draco waits for Potter to continue.

“She was taking a walk and ended up too near to the Whomping Willow. It attacked her, but she got away. She heard a voice whispering to her, telling her she had awakened it and it wanted more. She, um, she said it sounded like me.”

Draco’s eyes widen. Of course. How didn’t he make the connection sooner?

“She was too frightened to tell anyone. But after Clara vanished, she started to suspect that the same thing happened to her, only Clara didn’t escape.”

“Hold on, so she thinks she… started this?”

“I mean, the attacks did happen after her encounter with the Whomping Willow.”

Draco sits back, trying to make sense of it. “The Whomping Willow,” he murmurs. “But why is it doing it now? It never attacked students before. Not like this.”

“Yeah.” Potter cocks his head. “It did attack Ron, Hermione and me in third year, but it didn’t feed on us.” He shrugs. “I honestly have no idea. But I hope Dumbledore does.”

“Dumbledore?”

“Yeah, he wants to talk to me again, but I wanted to make sure you were okay first.”

Draco looks at his hands and hopes he isn’t blushing too hard.

“So… yeah, I should be going.”

Draco nods and slowly sits up.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Potter asks.

“I’m coming with you.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m your bloody partner,” Draco snaps. “I need to hear this, too.”

Potter doesn’t look convinced, but he helps Draco get out of bed.

“Where are my clothes?”

“Ah, they’re here. I cleaned them.”

“Thanks,” Draco says awkwardly. He gets changed while Potter waits outside and wobbles to the door on unsteady legs. He feels exhausted and drained, but this is important.

It takes them longer than usual to arrive at the headmistress’ office. They step inside and Draco collapses into one of the chairs.

“Ah, Draco,” a familiar voice says. “How are you?”

“He’s alive,” Potter mutters.

“I’m fine,” Draco says through gritted teeth.

“You wanted to see me, Professor?” Potter says.

“Yes. Why don’t you sit down, Harry?”

Potter looks surprised, but he sits down next to Draco.

Dumbledore smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “What I’m about to tell you might alarm you, Harry, but I need you to stay calm.”

Potter’s eyes widen. “What is it, Professor?”

“In the light of this new information, about the Whomping Willow, I found that my suspicions have been accurate.”

“What suspicions?” Potter asks.

Dumbledore looks at him intently over his half-moon spectacles. “That eight years ago, when you resisted the Killing Curse for a second time, you left a piece of yourself in the Forbidden Forest.”

Potter’s jaw drops in bewilderment. “A piece of—What?”

Dumbledore nods.

“No, Professor, I don’t understand. What are you saying?”

“A piece of your soul, Harry. It—”

“But—But you said my soul was whole and completely mine,” Potter says, panic ringing loudly in his voice. “That’s what you said when we were at King’s Cross.” Potter pauses. “That was you, wasn’t it?”

Dumbledore smiles at him. “In that moment, your soul was whole.” His expression changes, dark lines creasing his forehead. “As I told you back then, Harry, what happened between you and Voldemort was unprecedented. When you chose to come back to the living—”

“Are you saying I made the wrong choice? That I should have died after all?” Potter cuts in.

“Not at all,” Dumbledore says calmly. “But it appears not all of you agreed with your choice.”

“What—What does that mean?” Potter asks.

“I can only take a guess,” Dumbledore says, something flashing in his eyes as though he’s sharing a private joke with Potter, “but I believe there was a part of you that did not want to go back.”

“What? I—No!”

“Harry, I’m not saying you wanted to die. Wanting to die and accepting one’s fate are two very different things. However, it seems that part of your soul detached itself from you when you returned.”

Potter takes a deep, shaky breath. “How?”

“Again, this is only a guess.” Dumbledore folds his hands. “I believe it was the darkest part of your soul that revolted. It sought obliteration.”

“But then—” Potter looks thunderstruck. “Even if what you’re saying is true and a part of my soul did detach itself, it couldn’t have survived outside of my body, right? It would have needed another body.”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore says. “And it found one. Just not the body you might expect. Unlike Voldemort, who feared death above anything else, whose soul desperately latched onto the first living thing it could find, yours did not mean to survive.”

“But it did?” Potter asks, his tone doubtful.

“Against its will,” Dumbledore nods. “Inside the Whomping Willow.”

There’s a brief silence during which everybody seems to be absorbed in their own thoughts.

“I still don’t understand,” Potter murmurs. “How can part of my soul be in the Whomping Willow. Is it—” He swallows. “Is it a Horcrux?”

Draco frowns. What the hell is a Horcrux?

“No. It’s not a Horcrux.” Dumbledore looks at him pensively. “Harry, have you ever wondered about the Whomping Willow’s sentience?

“I—No.”

“Well, it is sentient.”

Potter’s eyes widen in horror. “What are you saying, Professor?”

“This is a very rare occurrence, since it involves parts or even the entirety of a human soul, but it is not unheard of. A sentient tree, like the Whomping Willow, does not have a soul. It can, however, absorb one. It then becomes something Muggles have built folk tales around.” Dumbledore pauses and Draco suspects he’s just doing that for the dramatic effect. “It becomes a tree spirit.”

Potter looks utterly perplexed by that, admittedly, unsettling piece of information.

“Now, if it had been your entire soul, I am certain the Whomping Willow would have turned out to be a good-natured tree spirit. However, since, as I suspect, it absorbed only the darkest part of your soul, it became dark in turn.”

The following silence feels eerie and stifling. Potter looks like he’s going to be sick. Rightfully so. This is absolutely insane.

“So did—did—” Potter gulps. “Did my soul kill those students?”

“I don’t think so,” Dumbledore murmurs. “But time is of the essence. If my suppositions are correct, they’ve been robbed of their humanity and it won’t be long before the Whomping Willow consumes their souls as well.”

“Can they be saved?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

“What about the Bloody Baron?”

“Ah, no, I think he is indeed beyond help.”

Draco hears Potter taking a deep breath. Yeah, this is a lot to take in.

“What I don’t understand,” Draco begins. “If it’s really the darkest part of Potter’s soul that’s missing, shouldn’t he be… I don’t know, less grumpy?”

Potter’s head whips around to him.

“We both know you’ve been a miserable wreck.”

“I understand your reasoning, Draco,” Dumbledore says. “However, this loss highly affects the balance of Harry’s soul. No matter how much we may resent it, we all have darkness inside of us. And no matter how much we may try to fight it, it will not only always be a part of us, it is also crucial to our existence.”

“How so?” Draco asks sceptically.

“Without darkness, the brightest light will go unseen.”

Potter seems to ponder that for a moment. “So… because I lost the darkest part of me, I can’t really feel happy?”

Dumbledore nods. “I would even go so far as to say, you can’t feel anything but devastation.”

Draco inhales sharply when he sees Potter’s mouth drop open. Is Dumbledore right? Is it true?

“I—I—” Potter looks like a fish on dry land. “How—How can I fix it? How do I save the children?”

Draco raises an eyebrow. It speaks volumes that Potter’s first instinct is to save others before he thinks about saving himself. That will never change, Draco supposes.

“The balance of your soul needs to be restored,” Dumbledore says.

Oh! That’s what the centaur was talking about, wasn’t it?

_And in doing so, that which is broken will be whole again._

“And how do I do that?” Potter asks, voice trembling.

The corners of Dumbledore’s mouth turn downwards. “I am afraid, this will be a chancy undertaking. You have to take back the darkest part of you, you have to welcome it back.”

Potter shifts in his seat. His face is unreadable.

“It will be painful, Harry. And there is a chance your body might not withstand it.”

“What?” Draco bursts out.

Dumbledore turns to him. “This part of Harry’s soul has been separated from him for eight years. It weakened him.”

Panic crashes down on Draco.

“But it will save the children?” Potter asks.

“That is my hope,” Dumbledore nods.

“You don’t even know for sure?” Draco yells. “Potter, no.” He turns to him with pleading eyes. “Don’t do this.”

“I have to,” Potter says. “It’s my fault.”

“This isn’t—Ugh! Listen to yourself! Not everything is your fault!”

“Draco is right, Harry. This was beyond your control,” Dumbledore says.

“Still. It’s my responsibility to make it right.”

Draco should have known. He should have known Potter would react like this. He’ll sacrifice himself. Again.

Draco mentally berates himself. He was so angry at Potter; he thought Potter didn’t care. Instead, Potter hadn’t been able to care.

“The most important thing, Harry,” Dumbledore says, “is not to fight the pain. You will want to, but you have to embrace it. You have to embrace every emotion you will feel while your soul tries to mend itself.”

This is mental. This is unacceptable.

Potter nods. “I’ll do it now.”

“What?”

“There’s no point in delaying it.” Potter jumps out of his seat and before Draco knows it, he’s out the door.

“Potter, wait!” He runs after him, but Potter is already out of sight. Draco darts down the stairs, panic and dread washing over him. He wills his legs to run faster and ignores the pain in his lungs. It’s almost unbearable when he finally catches up to Potter, right outside of the entrance.

“Potter, no! Don’t do this!”

“I don’t have a choice, Draco.”

“At least wait until you’re properly prepared for this.”

“I’ll never be properly prepared,” Potter retorts.

Draco grits his teeth and runs past Potter to block his way. “I’ll Stupefy you if I have to,” he growls and shoves his hand into his pocket. He grabs his wand but pauses when his fingertips brush against something else. He takes out the little stone and it rolls around on his palm.

“Where did you get that?”

Draco drinks in Potter’s pale face. “I found it in the Forest.”

“You shouldn’t have picked it up. You should have left it there.”

“You know what this is?”

Potter doesn’t answer.

“Is it dangerous?”

“Highly dangerous.” Potter sounds serious.

“What is it?”

“It’s—” Potter hesitates. “It’s the Resurrection Stone.”

Draco gasps. “ _The_ Resurrection Stone?”

Potter nods. Draco loved ‘The Tale of the Three Brothers’ as a child, but he never thought that any of it could be true.

“Are you sure?”

“This,” Potter points at it, “was in the Snitch Dumbledore gave me.”

“Oh.”

Does that mean Potter saw his family before he walked into the Forest? Draco tries to recall their conversation about it.

_What was inside the Snitch?_

_Something I needed to see before I died._

Draco shudders. He pushes the thought that Potter might really die this time out of his mind. He knows he won’t be able to stop Potter, but he has no idea what to say to him to make this easier. What do you say to someone who’s willing to sacrifice himself, when all you want to do is cling to him and beg him not to? Draco can’t do this. He needs help.

Before he can change his mind, he turns the stone in his palm three times, just like the second brother in the tale.

“No, wait, Draco, don’t!”

Draco furrows his brows, concentrating hard on the person he wants to summon. He has no idea if it will work. That person isn’t technically his loved one, but he’s hoping their kinship will be enough.

He stares, his eyes widening as a figure materialises behind Potter.

“Harry.”

Potter freezes. His expression changes from fear to wonder to… something else. He slowly turns around.

“Sirius.”

Draco’s pulse quickens. It worked. It worked!

Potter gapes at him, as though he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “How—” He turns back to Draco.

“Yeah, I’m surprised as well,” Sirius says. “I thought he was really going to stun you.”

“So you—you—” Potter bites his lip. “You know what’s going on?”

Sirius nods. His black hair reaches down to his shoulders and Draco doesn’t know if he’s imagining it, but he thinks he sees some resemblance to his aunt Bellatrix.

Potter rolls his shoulders and bows his head as though he’s ashamed. “Sirius, I—I’m scared,” he whispers.

“I know.”

“I don’t want to do this again.”

“I know.”

“It’s not fair.”

Sirius’ lips curve into a sad smile. “It isn’t. But I know you’re going to do the right thing. You can’t keep living like this, Harry. I know you don’t want to feel more pain, but it’s _your_ pain. You need to take it back.”

“You sound like Dumbledore,” Potter mutters. He reaches up and rubs his fingers against his forehead.

“You can do this,” Sirius says. “I know you can.”

“Do you think I’ve cheated death too many times now?”

Sirius’ expression turns soft. “You didn’t cheat death, Harry. It was Lily’s love that protected you.”

“It won’t this time,” Potter says glumly.

“We’re here for you, Harry. And I suspect we aren’t the only ones.” His gaze wanders over to Draco.

Potter looks down at his shoes and Draco can’t tell if he’s as flustered as Draco or if he’s too caught up in his thoughts. “Thank you,” he murmurs, taking a step forward. “At least, if things go wrong, I’ll see you again. Right?”

Draco’s heart stops.

Sirius just smiles. Potter turns around and nods at Draco. His fingers shake as he drops the stone back into his pocket. The moment it leaves Draco’s palm, Sirius’ figure vanishes.

Draco stares at the suddenly empty spot, unwilling to face what’s about to happen. He sees Potter shift out of the corner of his eye and he wants to dash forward and fling his arms around him.

“I have to go,” Potter mutters.

“No,” Draco breathes, unable to hide his anguish.

“I’m sorry, but I really have to go, Draco.”

“I know,” Draco chokes. “I know. I just—” he gulps.

“This isn’t goodbye.”

“You don’t know that.”

Potter steps closer, his expression softening. “I’ll be right back.”

Draco shakes his head.

“I’ll come back.”

Draco searches his face frantically and wets his lips. “What if you don’t?”

“Draco.”  
  
“What if you don’t come back?” Draco yells. “Who will annoy me all day? Who will drive me insane by talking in their sleep? Who will argue with me? Who will— Who will—”

“Please don’t,” Potter says, closing his eyes. “This is hard enough as it is.”

Draco blinks as the stinging in his eyes intensifies. “Great! See if I’ll miss you, then, you piece of shit,” he bellows. “Because I won’t! I won’t!” He doesn’t fight back when Potter pulls him into a hug. He presses his forehead against Potter’s shoulder and bangs his fist against his chest.

“I’ll be right back,” Potter repeats.

“I’ll come with you,” Draco says, lifting his head. “I’ll—”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I have to do this on my own.”

“Potter, you—”

“No, it’s too dangerous.”

“I’m an Auror, Potter, I—”

“Draco!”

Draco stills.

“I can’t let anything happen to you.”

“Oh, but I’m just supposed to let you go?”

“There’s no other way.” Potter leans forward, until their foreheads are touching. “Look, I don’t—I know this is going to sound stupid, but… the thought of coming back to you is—it’s—”

Draco stops breathing.

“I knew there was something wrong with me, but I thought it was just the way my life was going to be. Now I know that it doesn’t have to be like that. Maybe—Maybe I can—” He puts his hand on Draco’s cheek. “You startled me out of my numbness. You reminded me what it’s like to—to want to feel something again.”

“But you’re not feeling anything for me right now?” That’s not what Draco meant to say, but, somehow, he doesn’t want to take it back either.

Potter closes his eyes and lets his nose brush against Draco’s. “I—Maybe. I’m not sure. It’s—It’s very confusing.”

Draco frowns. He knows it’s unfair, he knows now that Potter isn’t capable of feeling emotions like a normal person, but he can’t stop himself. “I get it. You wouldn’t be the first to confuse physical attraction with—”

“I’m not just talking about the sex, Draco.” Potter takes a deep breath. “Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed what we were doing, but—” He hesitates. “I… don’t hate myself when I’m around you. I guess I’m too busy being annoyed at you.” His lips stretch into a weary smile.

Draco shudders as his heart gives a painful squeeze. How is he supposed to let Potter go now? What if he never sees him again?

“Kiss me,” Draco whispers, curling his fingers into Potter’s robes.

Potter’s eyes flick to his lips and Draco feels his thumb caressing the corner of his mouth. “No.”

Draco inhales sharply. Oh. As foolish as it is, he wasn’t prepared for a no. He tries to take a step back, but Potter holds him in place.

“If I kiss you now,” he says quietly, “it will mean goodbye. It’s not a goodbye, do you hear me?”

Draco shakes his head stubbornly.

“I’m going to kiss you when I get back. When, not if.”

This is unbearable.

“I have to go now.” Potter brushes his fingers through Draco’s hair before he turns around and walks away.

Draco stares after him, not realising that he has collapsed to his knees. The cold air ruffles his hair; it feels like he’s being flogged. How can this be happening? How could Draco let this happen? How could he let himself get close enough to Potter to care? When had that even happened? And what the fuck is he supposed to do now? Stand here and wait? Let his heart be broken into pieces as he slowly realises Potter isn’t coming back?

He sits back on his heels, not knowing what to do about the emptiness he feels in his chest. He blinks away the tears that are threatening to brim over. So this is it. He doesn’t dare to hope. He can’t let himself hope. It will be so much more painful. He sinks down to the ground, not caring if his robes get dirty. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore. Even if Potter were able to survive, would he be the same person? Would he be the person Draco unknowingly took into his heart? Honestly? It wouldn’t matter. Any version of Potter is better than no Potter.

He finally understands the regret he heard in Potter’s voice when he had talked about Sirius and not being able to get to know him properly. It was only in these last few weeks that Draco got to know the real Potter. He thought he knew him, but, apparently, he spent fourteen years in utter ignorance.

When his fingers start to get numb from the cold, Draco slowly sits up again. He doesn’t know how much time has passed. Has Potter reached the Whomping Willow? Is he in pain right now? Is he—Is he—

Draco can’t finish the thought. He shakes his head at himself. And that’s when he see it. The sky. The clouds. They’re red, as though they’re on fire. Something’s going on.

Pulse quickening, Draco gets up. Why is he still here? Why did he let Potter go down there on his own?

He starts running as fast as his wobbly legs can carry him, mentally pleading that he won’t be there too late. He almost trips a couple of times, but his mind is so fixated on getting to Potter, it doesn’t really register. He stumbles down the hill, his heart almost leaping out of his chest when he finally sees the Whomping Willow. And Potter.

“No!”

Potter is several feet off the ground, the Whomping Willow’s branches curled around him. The sight is absolutely horrifying, especially against the glow of the crimson sky; it looks like it’s about to rain blood.

“Potter!” He dashes forward, his hands instinctively reaching up in a desperate attempt to free Potter’s legs. He tries to wrench Potter free, but the branch doesn’t even budge. Another one shoots down right at Draco, which he realises much too late. It hits him squarely in the chest and sends him flying through the air. He lands on his back and squeezes his eyes shut as he feels his breath knocked out of him. Grunting, he scrambles to his feet and rushes back to where Potter is still trying to fight off the Whomping Willow.

“Potter!” Draco draws his wand. “Diffindo,” he shouts, waiting for the branches to break. They don’t. “Impedimenta! Petrificus Totalus! Stupefy! His voice breaks. None of the spells are working. Is the Whomping Willow immune to them? Is it because it’s a tree spirit now? “Finite Incantatem!”

_“Give me more.”_

Draco freezes.

_“I want more.”_

Draco lowers his wand, the sound of the voice—a darker, cruel version of Potter’s voice—cutting through him like a knife.

_“Give me more.”_

Merlin, is the Whomping Willow trying to absorb the rest of Potter’s soul? But it should be the other way round. Potter should be taking back the piece inside of it.

Draco’s eyes snap up when he hears Potter making a choking sound. His hands are curled around the branch that’s strangling him.

_The most important thing, Harry, is not to fight the pain. You will want to, but you have to embrace it._

Draco swallows. It seems illogical not to fight back; Potter is being squashed.

_“Give me more.”_

The more Potter fights back, Draco realises, the louder he can hear the voice. Is it getting stronger? Is the tree spirit getting what it wants?

“Potter! Stop fighting it,” he shouts. “Stop—” His voice breaks yet again. His eyes lock with Potter’s and his stomach drops when he sees his tortured expression. “You can’t fight it,” Draco says, not knowing if he’s helping Potter or if he’s sealing his fate. He can only hope Dumbledore knew what he was talking about. “Stop fighting it. Concentrate on what you’re feeling.”

Potter jerks and keeps struggling against the branches.

“You said you’d come back to me,” Draco yells, feeling his throat close up. “You said—” He wipes his face with his sleeve, hating himself for being unable to stop the tears.

Potter opens his mouth as though he wants to say something, but no sound comes out. He stares at Draco, his face twisting in pain. And then, his arms fall to his side.

Draco gasps. For a moment, he thinks Potter is losing consciousness. No. He finally stopped fighting back.

_“More. More!”_

Draco’s blood runs cold. The tree spirit can’t win. Potter has to do something!

“Potter!” He takes a step forward as Potter closes his eyes, horror washing over him. “Potter!”

_“No!”_

Draco’s head whips around to the Whomping Willow.

_“No!”_

Is Potter doing it? Draco has to stop himself from raising his wand once more; it looks like Potter is being squashed to death. This can’t be right. How is he supposed to survive if the Whomping Willow breaks all his bones?

_“No! You can’t have it! It’s mine!”_

Draco screams and quickly shields his eyes when Potter is suddenly surrounded by a blinding white light.

_“Noooooo!”_

There’s an ear-splitting crack, closely followed by a dull thud. Draco looks up.

“Potter!” Draco darts forward and throws himself on his knees beside Potter’s lifeless body. “Don’t be dead, please don’t be dead.” He grabs one of Potter’s hands; it’s icy and limp. “No, Potter, please.” Draco feels hot tears stream down his face. He is utterly unprepared for the branch that hits him in the ribs and sends him flying through the air once more.

“Aaah!” His back connects with something hard before he slithers down to the ground. He shakes his head, regretting it immediately as a sharp pain shoots through him. “Fuck!” He opens his eyes and blinks disorientedly. He must have crashed against the trunk. He looks up in panic and frowns when he sees all the branches are suddenly completely still, as though they’re frozen.

Gritting his teeth, he tries to get up and yelps when his back protests vehemently. He can barely move. He plants his palms on the ground, intent on pushing himself up. He groans, willing his muscles to cooperate, when his eyes fall on a strange gap in the roots. It’s a fairly big gap. Big enough for a small person to climb through. Merlin!

Draco fumbles for his wand and points it at the gap with shaking fingers. “Lumos,” he whispers. It’s still hard to see, but… it looks like… it could be a tunnel. And there—Draco gasps. It’s a sleeve. Slytherin robes. There’s absolutely no doubt.

“Malfoy! Potter!”

Oh, thank Merlin!

“What in Godric’s name happened to you two?” McGonagall says, running faster than Draco has ever seen her move.

“Merlin’s beard!” Slughorn freezes when he sees Potter lying on the ground. “Is he—”

“Professor,” Draco croaks, “the children. They’re in here.”

McGonagall gets onto her knees beside Draco and puts a warm hand on his shoulder.

“My goodness,” she gasps. “Quick! Filius! Help me get them out!”

Draco wants to scream when Professor Slughorn offers his shoulders for Draco to grab and helps him stand up.

“Potter! Potter! Can you hear me?” Professor Sprout sounds frantic. “Potter!”

Draco wants to sink back down on the ground and never get up again.

“Potter!”

He can’t watch this. It’s too much. It hurts too much.

“Potter, can you—”

Draco’s head shoots up when he hears a strangled cough, his pulse inadvertently quickening. He sees Potter’s hand move to cover his mouth.

“Oh thank Merlin,” Professor Sprout exclaims, clasping her hands together.

“Please, Professor, not so loud,” Potter chokes.

Draco almost bursts out laughing.

He’s alright. Potter is alright.


	7. Show me

Potter isn’t alright. That much is clear the moment he lays eyes on Draco in the hospital wing.

“Malfoy,” he breathes, blinking against the light.

Draco’s heart sinks. Malfoy. He’s calling him Malfoy again.

After they got everyone back to the castle, Potter drifted back into unconsciousness. He’s been out for three days. So as relieved as Draco is to finally see him awake, the dread that crashes down on him cancels out everything else.

“Feeling better?” Draco hears himself say, even though his chest feels like it’s being cut open.

“I—I don’t know,” Potter says, wrinkling his nose. “What happened?”

“I’m not so sure, actually.” Draco’s eyes dart over Potter’s face. “Do you feel… different?” He holds his breath while Potter slowly sits up, the frown wrinkles between his brows deep and somehow foreboding.

“Am I supposed to?”

Draco looks away. He’s honestly not sure what to say, how to react or what to do. Maybe this is normal. Maybe Potter needs some time to adjust. Or maybe, everything that happened in the last few weeks only did because Potter wasn’t thinking straight, because he was broken.

“God, my head is killing me,” Potter groans.

“You were in pretty bad shape when we brought you in here,” Draco murmurs. He shudders at the memory of the purple bruises around Potter’s throat.

“Yeah, I remember—Oh my god!” Potter sits up so quickly, he almost tumbles off the bed. “The children! What about the children? Are they safe? Are they okay?”

“They are,” Draco says. “See?” He gestures to the four students lying in the beds at the far end of the room.

“They’re still unconscious?”

“Yes. Dumbledore said that’s what’s to be expected. It was a close call, apparently. Pomfrey is keeping a close eye on them and two Healers from St Mungo’s are here. They’ve been performing a bunch of spells on them to get their vitals working properly again.”

Potter still looks worried.

“They’re going to be fine, Potter.” He swallows around the lump in his throat. “You saved them.” But did Potter also save himself?

“Harry! Oh, Harry!”

Draco turns sideways and sees Granger rushing over to them. She flings herself at Potter and hides her face in the crook of his neck.

“We’ve been so worried about you!”

“Yeah, McGonagall just popped up in our fireplace and told us to come here. Nearly gave me a heart attack,” Weasley says.

“We would have come sooner, Harry, but we had to take Rose to Molly’s first.”

“I just woke up, Hermione,” Potter says, patting her on the shoulder.

Draco turns away, balling his hands into fists. He feels out of place, watching Potter and his friends reunite. It doesn’t exactly help that they know what’s been going on between him and Potter. It’s the Erumpent in the room, which Draco hopes everyone is going to ignore.

“What happened, Harry?” Granger asks, slightly pulling back. “McGonagall said you were injured, but she didn’t tell us what happened.”

“It’s a long story,” Potter sighs. “And I’m actually not sure about the specifics. My mind is kinda… foggy.”

Draco presses his lips into a tight line and catches Weasley peeking at him. He can’t stand being in this room for another second.

“Great, now that your friends are here, there’s really no need for me to stick around,” he says, smoothing down his robes.

“Someplace you need to be, Malfoy?” Weasley asks.

“The Ministry,” Draco shrugs.

“Are you, um—” Granger stands up. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay?”

“The report won’t be writing itself,” Draco says. He has a feeling Granger noticed that he evaded her question. Even Weasley might have, with the way he’s looking at him.

Before the situation gets unbearably awkward, Draco turns on his heels and strides over to the door. Without intending to, he pauses, his hand hovering over the door handle, waiting. Bitterness bubbles up inside him as he slowly realises Potter isn’t going to stop him.

Raising his chin, he wrenches open the door and marches outside, his chest feeling empty yet again. No wonder, a little voice whispers inside his head. He left his heart with Potter and he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to get it back.

* * *

 

It’s been almost two weeks and Potter still hasn’t come back to work. Draco tries to push all thoughts of him out of his mind, but it’s easier said than done. His stomach drops every time he looks over the dividing wall and sees the empty chair that seems to be screaming at him that Potter doesn’t want to see him. He really shouldn’t be surprised. How could he have ever thought things could be different?

“Why so glum?”

Draco looks up, his lips stretching into a weary smile when he sees the paper cup Nick is offering him. He takes it and finds to his regret that even the taste of caramel isn’t able to cheer him up.

“Well, at least you lasted longer than the other ones, right?” Nick says, leaning against Draco’s desk.

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh. I thought you knew.”

“What?”

Nick lowers his cup, his expression turning apologetic. “I saw Potter earlier. He was in Robards’ office.”

Draco feels the blood draining from his face.

“I assumed he was, um…”

“Asking for a new partner,” Draco finishes. He leans back in his chair, feeling dumbstruck. Why is he even surprised?

“You hated working with him anyway. Right?” Draco can hear the growing scepticism in Nick’s voice.

“Right,” Draco says. He stares at Potter’s chair and feels the strong urge to set it on fire.

“It won’t reflect badly on you, Draco,” Nick says. “If Potter keeps this up, there’ll be nobody left he can be partnered up with.”

Draco couldn’t care less about that, but instead of clarifying, he simply nods and takes another sip of his coffee.

“I’ve got to run. Don’t want to keep my date waiting,” Nick winks.

Draco forces himself to smile. “Say Hi to Pansy for me.”

“Will do.”

That night, Draco stays at the office much longer than he usually does. He just can’t seem to find the strength to get up. Potter doesn’t want to work with him anymore. And he didn’t even have the courtesy to tell Draco himself. What does he expect Draco to do now? To forget everything that happened? To avoid him and never talk to him again? Well, Draco decides, as he finally pushes himself out of his seat, that’s exactly what he’s going to do.

He drags himself home and doesn’t bother to get out of his cloak before he throws himself onto the sofa. He stares at the ceiling, willing the wretched sorrow that’s gnawing at him to go away. He hates himself for being so pathetic. He hates Potter for making him feel this way. He—

His head turns to the door with a raised eyebrow when he hears a knock. The only people who have his address are Blaise and Pansy. Blaise is on holiday in Greece with his girlfriend. Is it Pansy? Is her date with Nick over already? Did it not go well? Draco isn’t exactly the right person to come to for comfort right now, but she doesn’t know that.

Sighing, Draco heaves himself off the sofa and trudges over to the door. Time seems to be standing still as soon as he opens it and stares into green eyes.

“Hi.”

Draco clutches the door handle, suddenly feeling dizzy. “What—What are you doing here? How do you know where I live?”

“Ah.” Potter looks sheepish. “Olivia gave me your address.”

“Why would she do that?”

“I guess she felt bad for me. She read your report.”

Draco doesn’t know what to say.

“Can I come in?”

No, Draco wants to say. He doesn’t want to expose himself to more torture. However, he finds himself stepping aside, granting Potter entrance. Potter walks inside and stands awkwardly in front of the dining table. He looks so out of place in Draco’s flat; his hideous beige jumper and his Muggle jeans only add to that.

Draco closes the door, relieved that his back is turned to Potter, even if it’s just for a brief moment. He doesn’t know if he can look him in the eye without giving too much away.

“I, um, I wanted to tell you something.”

Draco inhales sharply, his stomach in knots. “I already know.”

“You do?” Potter sounds surprised.

“Nick told me he saw you talking to Robards,” Draco says. “You don’t need to explain anything. I knew you’d ask for a new partner sooner or later.”

The following silence almost feels like an admission of guilt. Or maybe it’s indifference. Draco isn’t sure.

“Um, that’s not it, actually,” he hears Potter murmur.

Oh?

“I—I’m not coming back. I quit.”

Draco didn’t think he could feel any worse at this point. He didn’t think he was still hoping for… something. So this is what it’s like to get one’s heart shattered into pieces.

“Robards wasn’t happy about it when I told him. He yelled at me for almost ten minutes.”

Draco can visualise it perfectly.

“I just realised… I don’t want to do that anymore. I don’t like being an Auror and I was constantly hoping for something to change in my life. I’m tired of waiting. I don’t know what I was waiting for. Life is too short to waste it on something that makes you unhappy.”

Draco ponders that and silently agrees. Potter’s right. That’s exactly why Draco should stop thinking about him, wasting his energy on someone who’ll only make him unhappy. Curiously enough though, Potter didn’t mention Draco at all in his reasoning on why he quit. Is he that insignificant to Potter?

“Malfoy?”

The sound of his name, his last name, pierces him like Potter just threw a dagger at him.

“Are you listening to me?”

Composing himself in that moment feels like the hardest thing he ever had to do. He schools his features, forces himself to raise his chin before he slowly turns around. It hurts, looking at Potter. It hurts so damn much.

“I, err—” Potter looks down at his shoes. “I was a little surprised you didn’t try to contact me.”

“You didn’t contact me either,” Draco says, keeping his tone flat.

“I was trying to make sense of… everything that happened.”

Draco’s heart gives a painful squeeze.

“I was a mess. My emotions were all over the place.”

“And now?” Draco hears himself ask.

Potter looks up, his face unreadable. “It’s still very confusing.”

Draco nods, feeling something vile and bitter creeping down his throat.

“But there’s something my mind keeps going back to.” Potter hesitates. “The promise I made you before I went down to the Whomping Willow.”

The stoic mask Draco set into place with so much effort inadvertently slips. “What?”

“Yeah, I—” Potter takes a careful step forward. “I promised I’d come back. To you.”

Draco stops breathing.

“I didn’t really keep that promise, did I?”

Draco watches helplessly as Potter approaches him.

“Even though it was kinda drowned out at the time, I keep remembering how I felt at the thought of coming back to you.”

Draco finds himself unable to move, not even able to shy away from Potter’s hand that gently cups his cheek.

“I wasn’t sure what it meant. And now—”

Merlin, this is unbearable. What the fuck is Potter trying to say?

“All I know is, I haven’t felt like this in years.”

Draco gapes at him. “Like what?”

Potter lets out a little chuckle. “Being around you is so irritating, I want to tear my hair out. You made me remember all those emotions I didn’t think I could feel anymore.” He brushes his thumb against Draco’s cheekbone. “I know how to deal with pain, believe me. Pretty much all my life has been about pain. I think that’s why—why I have trouble understanding what’s going on when—when I’m not in pain.”

“You—What?” Draco frowns. “You’re not making any sense, Potter.”

“It’s—It’s complicated,” Potter murmurs. “I still can’t really explain—It’s just… I don’t think I ever—I mean, what do you do when you’re just… happy?”

What? Potter is happy? He’s _happy?_ If that isn’t a slap in the face, Draco doesn’t know what is.

“Good for you, Potter,” he says, trying to shove away his hand.

Potter blinks, confusion written all over his face, before his lips stretch into a soft smile. “No, I think you’re misunderstanding.”

“I understand you perfectly,” Draco snaps and moves to step around Potter. He scowls when Potter reaches out and holds him in place.

“Draco.”

His heart jumps.

Potter puts his hand back on Draco’s cheek. “I’m happy because I’m finally in control of myself again and that means I can finally trust my gut again, my emotions. They’re not deceiving me anymore.” His eyes search Draco’s face. “And now, I—I guess I’m asking you if—if there’s a chance—”

“You said we were just using each other,” Draco blurts. “We—We were just—”

“I’m sorry I said that,” Potter murmurs. “At the time, I wasn’t—” He bites his lip. “I didn’t know how I felt and I certainly didn’t know what was going on with you. Now, everything is so much clearer and in hindsight—” He shakes his head. “I wasn’t using you. And you weren’t filling a void, Draco,” he says, his fingers caressing Draco’s jaw. He leans forward, his eyes gleaming. “You set my broken soul alight.”

Draco gapes at him, completely at a loss for words. This is… not going where he thought it was.

“Please say something,” Potter whispers, his eyes boring into Draco’s.

Merlin, this is real. He really means it.

“You—You said you’d kiss me once you got back,” Draco whispers. His heart rate increases when he sees the worry melt away from Potter’s face.

“So you still want me to?”

“A promise is a promise,” Draco says, not even feeling embarrassed about his trembling voice.

Potter brushes his fingers against Draco’s cheek before he curls them around the back of his neck. “Well, I’m a man of my word,” he whispers and slowly leans forward.

Draco closes his eyes, his lips tingling in anticipation. He jerks when he feels Potter’s lips on the left corner of his mouth… then on the right. Draco gulps. He opens his mouth to tell Potter he’s going to hex him if he doesn’t kiss him properly soon… that’s when he feels it; warm, soft lips brushing against his. It’s hesitant and light, and yet Draco can’t suppress the gurgling sound in the back of his throat. His eyes snap open when Potter pulls back; the sight of his flushed cheeks overwhelms him. Only a few seconds ago, he thought Potter didn’t want anything to do with him. Merlin, this better not be a dream.

He reaches up and lets his fingertips wander over Potter’s beard. The last time he did this, he was disappointed to the level of devastation; Potter’s face had been impassive. Now, there’s so much heat in his eyes, Draco thinks he’s going to burst into flames. Is he finally feeling what Draco is feeling? Does he—

Draco gasps when Potter’s lips are suddenly on his again, without hesitation this time. Draco melts against the door as Potter presses their bodies flush together. He flings his arm around Potter’s neck and pulls him closer, shuddering when he feels something hot and wet brush against his lips. He hears Potter sigh when he opens his mouth and lets Potter’s tongue slip inside. He tastes delicious, Draco thinks, and presses his own tongue against Potter’s eagerly. Heat courses through him when Potter lets his hands slide down his body and puts them on the small of his back. The twists of his tongue become more urgent and Draco realises he’s never been kissed like this before. Well, his experience in this department is limited as it is, but he never thought a kiss could make him feel like this; dizzy, overwhelmed and elated at the same time. He wishes they could stay like this forever. He wants to feel like this forever.

“God, Draco, I—” Potter groans into his mouth.

“Yes?” Draco tilts his head a little more and buries one of his hands in Potter’s hair.

“I want you so much,” Potter whispers.

“Yes,” Draco whispers back, heat coiling in the pit of his stomach. Losing the ability to form coherent sentences never felt so good.

“I just—I—” Potter pulls back a little and Draco’s heart immediately sinks. That doesn’t sound too promising. “I’m still—What happened last time is still—” Potter takes a deep breath. “We can’t just—It’s not something we can just gloss over.”

Draco stays perfectly still. “What do we do, then?”

“Talk to me,” Potter says. “You’ve got to be honest with me. You didn’t tell me that I was hurting you. You didn’t tell me it was your first time.”

Draco averts his eyes, shame washing over him.

“I’m not sure if I’ll be able to forgive myself for what I did,” Potter says.

“Can you forgive _me_?” Draco mutters.

Potter puts a finger under his chin, forcing him to look up. “Only if you promise me it will never happen again.”

Draco tries to swallow his pride, his embarrassment, and slowly nods. “I thought I didn’t mean anything to you,” he says. “I didn’t want to tell you, because—because I thought it made me too—too vulnerable.”

Potter looks at him with pain in his eyes. “I think I understand. But Draco, keeping that from me wasn’t fair. I didn’t have all the facts.”

Draco opens his mouth to respond, but Potter is quicker.  

“The moment you’re withholding something and don’t lay everything on the line, it doesn’t matter that we both agree to it. We’re agreeing to different things.” He brushes a few strands of hair out of Draco’s face. “Look, I understand why you didn’t trust me before, but… do you trust me now?”

Draco bites his lip. “I want to,” he whispers. A part of him is still worried Potter will change his mind, that he’s still confused and doesn’t really know what he wants.

“Then let me show you what I would have done if I had known,” Potter says, leaning forward until their foreheads touch.

Draco blinks at him. He wants to—What?

“Please, let me show you,” Potter says and tilts his head to kiss Draco’s cheek. “Let me show you.” He moves to kiss the other cheek. Draco’s eyes flutter closed as Potter moves down to his jawline, his neck. “Let me show you.”

Draco gulps. “O—Okay.”

Potter pauses and looks up. “You don’t sound so sure.”

“I—I’m just—” He really, really, really doesn’t want to say it. But damn it, Potter has a point. Total honesty has never been his strong suit, not when it means Draco has to lay himself bare, but… what’s he got left to lose? He already thought Potter didn’t want him. He does. If only he knew how much Draco wants him. “I’m—I’m nervous,” he says, hating himself for admitting it out loud.

“Well, that makes two of us, then,” Potter says with a smile.

Draco has no idea why Potter has any reason to be nervous, but it does calm him a bit. Then again, maybe Potter is just saying it for that exact reason. But there’s something about the way he’s looking at Draco that makes him think he’s telling the truth. Maybe Draco really can trust him.

He exhales loudly and tries to banish the last of his doubts. “Okay,” he says. “Show me.”

The look on Potter’s face is something between astonishment and delight. It’s only then that Draco starts to realise his heart might not be the only one on the line. Emboldened by that thought, he pulls Potter into another kiss; Potter answers it hungrily.

“Where’s your bedroom?”

Draco pushes himself away from the door and blindly guides Potter through the living room. They both laugh when Potter bumps into the dining table and almost stumbles over one of Draco’s armchairs. Draco pulls him close to him while turning, relishing the feel of Potter’s tongue caressing his, and slowly starts walking backwards. He reaches behind him and fumbles until he finds the doorknob. As soon as they’re inside, Potter breaks the kiss, but only to move his mouth down to Draco’s neck.

“Oh!” Draco shudders as Potter sucks and licks. He only realises he’s still wearing his cloak when Potter opens the clasp and it slides down to the floor. His fingers move to work on the buttons of Draco’s uniform, taking their time with each one, until it joins the cloak by his feet. His shirt is next and Draco’s heart jumps every time Potter’s fingers graze his skin. He never would have thought someone else unbuttoning his shirt could be this sensual.

He grabs the hem of Potter’s jumper and pulls it over his head; the sensation of Potter’s bare chest pressed against his is almost too much. His hands cling to Potter’s shoulders as their mouths move together and Potter walks them over to the bed. Draco lets himself fall backwards when his calves touch something solid, pulling Potter down with him.

“Your skin is so soft,” Potter murmurs as he lets his right hand wander over Draco’s chest. Draco feels himself blush. He has no idea what to say.

Potter bends down to kiss his collarbone, his chest and Draco can’t help but arch his back when he feels Potter’s tongue swipe over his nipple. It’s more sensitive than he would have thought and a delicious tingle runs down his spine as Potter sucks it into his mouth and starts grinding his hips against Draco’s.

“Ah! Potter!” He blindly reaches out and buries his hand in soft hair.

Potter continues to pepper Draco’s torso with kisses, his hands exploring every inch of his skin.

“God, you’re so hot,” Potter whispers as he moves lower. His nimble fingers unbutton Draco’s trousers within seconds and Draco lifts his hips as Potter pulls the last of his clothing off his legs. “Hmmm, I’m so looking forward to taking you apart,” he murmurs and nuzzles his face up to Draco’s cock.

Dear Merlin.

Draco almost screams when Potter sucks him into his mouth without warning, his hands reaching up to stroke Draco’s chest. He bobs his head slowly, with relish, and the vibration of his low hum makes Draco’s stomach tie itself into knots. Without realising what he’s doing, he places his hand on Potter’s cheek while more and more heat pools in his belly. Even when Potter releases his cock and starts kissing his abdomen, Draco is filled with so much want, he thinks he’s going to explode. He momentarily freezes when he feels one of Potter’s fingers moving to his cleft.

“Are you okay?” Potter asks.

Draco clears his throat. “Yes.”

“Just nervous?” Potter’s smile takes the bite out of that teasing remark and Draco simply nods. “Did you, um—Did you like what I did last time? You know, when I licked you.”

Sweet Merlin. The memory of that is still etched on Draco’s mind. There were days he felt himself getting hard just thinking about it.

“Yes,” he whispers, the roaring thunderstorm of desire inside of him threatening to burst out.

“Good,” Potter grins. “Come here.” He stretches out his hands and waits until Draco takes them. He pulls him up and Draco realises Potter wants them to switch places. He raises an eyebrow when Potter lies down on his back and takes off his glasses.

“How is that—”

“Turn around,” Potter says, his grin widening.

“But—”

“Trust me.”

Still sceptical, but intrigued, Draco does turn around. He yelps when Potter grabs one of his legs and guides it to the other side of his body. Now, Draco is straddling Potter’s chest. Backwards. His heart gives a violent jump when Potter places his hands on his thighs and pulls him closer to his face. Draco tumbles forward and tries to keep his balance by putting his palms on the mattress.

“Oh!” Draco’s mouth drops open when Potter starts kissing his cheeks. This… is an interesting position. He shudders when Potter’s tongue darts out and licks into his cleft. Fuck.

“How does it feel?” he hears Potter murmur.

Draco closes his eyes. “Not too bad.”

Potter sniggers and pushes his tongue between Draco’s cheeks once more. “Sit up,” he says and nudges Draco’s side with his hand.

“What—Really?”

“Really.”

“But… won’t I be smothering you?”

“Let me worry about that.”

“But—”

“Draco, I enjoy doing it like this.”

“Oh.” Hesitantly, Draco pushes himself up. Embarrassment washes over him, but it’s quickly forgotten when Potter lets out a groan and presses his tongue against Draco’s rim. “Oh, fuck!” It’s hard to keep his balance, but fortunately, Potter reaches out and snakes his arms around Draco’s thighs.

“Fuck yes,” Potter hisses.

“Ah!” Draco’s eyes roll to the back of his head as Potter’s tongue flaps over the sensitive spot again and again. He chokes when he feels Potter pressing his face even more urgently into his cleft, the press and swipe of his hot tongue setting all his nerves on fire. “Potter! Potter!” He hears Potter moan in response.

Not being able to hold himself up any longer, Draco lets himself fall forward and clumsily props himself up on his elbows. Potter only pulls his arse closer again and starts sucking on the puckered skin.

“Fuck!” Draco grabs one of Potter’s thighs, dizziness crashing down on him. His fingers instinctively find the buttons of Potter’s trousers to release his cock. Draco pushes down his pants impatiently and sucks the tip into his mouth.

“Nnnngh!” Potter seems to approve.

Furiously panting, Draco tries to suck Potter’s cock as best he can, which proves to be a bit difficult. Several times he has to pause, unable to keep his body from jerking.

“Ah! Yes! Right there, right there! Ah!”

Potter grunts, pressing his tongue so firmly against Draco’s rim, it suddenly slips inside.

“Oh fuck,” Draco chokes. The sensation of Potter’s tongue inside of him, paired with Potter’s fingers digging into his thighs is almost enough to make him come. “Fuck, Potter! Do it now. Please, I want—I want—” Draco buries his face into Potter’s groin.

“I think that can be arranged,” Potter says, his voice low. He nudges Draco to lift his hips and awkwardly pulls himself up from under him. He murmurs the now familiar lubrication spell and hisses before Draco feels one of his hands on his cheeks. He can’t help but smile when Potter plants several kisses on the small of his back, his warm breath ghosting over his skin. And then, he feels the tip of Potter’s cock rubbing against his entrance.

“Oh Merlin,” Draco breathes. His teeth clamp down on the sheets as he feels the tip of Potter’s cock slowly slipping inside. “Fuck!” It burns. But the tingling in his belly and down his spine is almost enough to distract him from the pain.

“Are you alright?” Potter wheezes.

“Yes,” Draco chokes, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

“Draco, seriously, I—”

“It burns a little, but it’s okay. Merlin, don’t you dare stop now.”

Potter moans as he pushes himself deeper into Draco, his hand reaching out to stroke Draco’s back. It does feel a little soothing.

“Oh, fuck yes,” Potter groans when his groin is pressed against Draco’s arse. He bends down, his chest warm against Draco’s back, and brushes his lips against Draco’s shoulder blade.

Draco inhales sharply as Potter starts to move, the stinging and burning mingling with heat. He grabs at the sheets when Potter reaches down and curls his hand around Draco’s cock. Every pull and twist of his hand distracts Draco further from any unpleasantness and soon, it’s replaced by something hot and thrilling that quickly spreads through his entire body.

“Yes! Yes! Merlin, yes!” Draco blinks when Potter lets go of his cock and, even worse, feels him pulling out his own cock. “What are you doing?” he asks, looking over his shoulder.

“Come here,” Potter smiles and guides Draco to lie down on his back. Instinctively, Draco lets his legs fall open and watches Potter as he grabs his cock and slowly pushes in once more.

“Ah!” The burning sensation is back, but Draco doesn’t have much time to think about it; Potter leans down to kiss him, every twist of his tongue eliciting more warmth that washes over Draco. His heart gives a pleasant jolt when Potter moans into his mouth and his hands move into Draco’s hair.

“Oh god, Draco.”

Draco opens his eyes when Potter presses their foreheads together, unable to suppress the shudder that seizes him at the sight of Potter’s intense gaze. He arches his back as Potter picks up the pace and reaches out to dig his fingers into the soft flesh of Potter’s arse.

“Fuck, yes! Oh god, Draco!”

Draco captures Potter’s lips once more with his own, giving in to the urge to let every inch of himself be devoured by Potter. The sweetness of the kiss is almost unbearable.

“Merlin, Draco,” Potter whispers against his mouth, “I like you so much, it hurts.”

Oddly enough, Draco knows exactly what Potter means. But never in a million years would he have thought he’d hear those words from Potter, directed at him.

“Are you—Ah! Are you getting sentimental on me, Potter?” Draco smirks. “You probably—Oh fuck! You—Ah!—You’d probably say anything right about now and—Ah!”

“Maybe,” Potter wheezes. “But that doesn’t make it less true.”

Overcome by a strange surge of emotions, Draco curls his hand around the back of Potter’s neck and crashes their mouths together. He feels the tingling in the pit of his belly that always indicates he’s close to the finish line.

“Potter! Yes! Yes! Almost! Yes!”

He feels Potter shift and gasps when warm fingers grab his cock.

“Fuck! Yes! Potter! Yes!”

Potter slams into him over and over until he suddenly stills and Draco feels his cock jerk inside of him.

“Oh!” He feels himself tumbling over the edge as well while Potter keeps pumping, his hand moving swiftly around Draco’s cock. “Fuck! Oh fuck!” Jolt after jolt seizes Draco’s body, heat filling him until he explodes.

“Oh god.” Potter moves, slowly pulling back until his cock slides out of Draco.

It feels… weird. Now that the tingling is gone, Draco realises how sore he is. He notices Potter waving his hand and freezes. This is it. This is the moment he dreaded. Potter always closed himself off after he cleaned them up.

Draco stays stock-still, only his chest vibrating in the rhythm of his erratic heartbeat.

“Are you okay?” Potter asks. “How do you feel?” He lies down on his stomach, beside Draco, and reaches out to brush some of Draco’s hair out of his face.

“Um, good,” Draco says, still sceptical.

“Just good?” Potter gives him a lopsided grin and leans forward to kiss the corner of his mouth.

Something unexpected and pleasant rushes through Draco. Hope, he realises. Potter was being sincere.

“You’re already too full of yourself,” Draco says, turning on his side and brushing his nose against Potter’s. “There’s no need to add to that.”

Potter laughs and Draco gives in to the urge to kiss him.

“What about you?” he asks, his eyes searching Potter’s face. “Still happy?”

“You could say that,” Potter murmurs and puts his arm around Draco, his fingers stroking the small of his back. “Actually,” his expression turns thoughtful, “not to be overly dramatic, but… I don’t think I’ve ever felt this happy.”

Draco stares at him, unsure of what to say.

“Oh, I didn’t—I mean, I don’t want you to feel pressured or anything,” Potter says. “I just, um—”

Draco holds his gaze, his lips stretching into a smile. “You know, I think I like having so much power over you.”

Astonishment flashes over Potter’s features, before he grins and kisses the tip of Draco’s nose.

“But, err—You, err—” Draco mentally slaps himself. He never stammers and he’s not going to start doing it now. “You have the same power over me,” he whispers.

“I do?” Potter asks, sliding closer to Draco.

“No need to get cocky, Potter.” He concentrates hard on summoning the duvet that must have fallen off the bed at some point. He feels rather pleased with himself when he feels soft silk against his skin. Ha, Potter isn’t the only one who can do wandless magic.

“I’m only returning the favour,” Potter says and brushes his lips against Draco’s cheek.

This is what it must feel like to almost burst with happiness, Draco thinks.

“Have you thought about what you’re going to do? You’ve got a lot of time on your hands, now that you’re out of a job.”

Potter snuggles closer to him and bends down to kiss his shoulder. If he keeps this up, his lips will have touched every inch of Draco’s body. “I have no idea,” he sighs. “But there’s no rush.”

“Okay. Well, the first step was mending your soul, I suppose. Now that you’re not broken anymore—”

“Oh, I’m still broken,” Potter says. Draco is surprised to find his expression calm and soft. “But I’ll learn to live with it.”

“That sounds awfully confident,” Draco says. “And almost a little too optimistic for you.”

“Well, I don’t have to deal with it alone anymore.” Potter reaches up and cups Draco’s cheek. “At least I’m hoping I won’t have to.”

Draco leans into the touch and closes his eyes. “No,” he says. “You won’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What I wanted to explore with this fic: I know this is very specific, and it doesn’t apply to every situation, but sometimes giving your consent isn’t enough. You may be embarrassed about something, it may be uncomfortable to talk about it, but I think it’s always worth doing a bit of soul-searching (no pun intended) and ask yourself if keeping that information to yourself will hurt the other person in the end. Does it change the initial situation? It’s a balancing act and definitely a gray area, but it just isn’t fair to keep information from the other person if it really does change the initial situation. Something like that happened to me once, and I can honestly say, if I ‘d had all the information beforehand, I wouldn’t have given my consent. But I’m also guilty of withholding information from my partner, which might have lead them to change their mind. Why did I do it? To protect myself. I only realized much later how unfair it was. What my partner had agreed to wasn’t what actually happened. I betrayed their trust because I, in turn, didn’t trust them enough to understand. So yeah, that’s what it all boils down to in my opinion — trust and honesty.


End file.
